Mossflower Odyssey: The Journey to Carrigul
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: Disaster strikes a small party from the peaceful town of Yew as they cross the mountains of the north to investigate the mysterious and ill-reputed town of Carrigul. This story follows the lives of nine creatures-a collection of Yew Guards, vermin performers, and merchants-as they seek a way out of the treacherous mountains and into Carrigul. Please visit our website and vote!
1. Prologue

**1. Prologue: May the Road Rise Up to Meet You**

_By: Tara_

For countless seasons, the town of Yew has lived in peace and prosperity. Nestled just below the southern foothills of the mountains north of the fabled Redwall Abbey, Yew stands as one of the last havens before Mossflower Country fades into the wild and lawless Northlands. The northern mountains have generally done their part in restraining the tide of wickedness threatening to spill into Mossflower.

However, several seasons ago, as if from nowhere, a mysterious settlement sprang up on the northern side of the mountains. Nobeast knew much of it, but then a name surfaced: Carrigul. It was a name borne over the mountain range upon the lips of terrified travelers, a name not spoken but whispered, as if in fear it might perhaps answer back.

Carrigul. Once a small settlement, but now rumored to be growing, spreading, plague-like. The tides may soon be turning for all of Mossflower.

"And that is why Lord Aster is sending us over the mountain pass, Miss Dewhurst. That is why we would like you to join us."

Pyracantha Dewhurst was, first and foremost, a professional. The vixen couldn't say the same about the rest of her troupe, but she expected that. And she certainly expected a bit more from the vole who stood before her brightly painted cart now, paws folded across his thrust out chest, straying every now and then to flick imaginary dust from the perfectly polished captain's pin affixed to his immaculate powder blue cloak.

"Pretty words," she crooned from her perch on the open back of the cart, "but I get the feeling there's something you're not being entirely honest about, my dear Captain Flax. Can't say as I'm not a teensy bit disappointed, really."

Flax's steely grey eyes narrowed. "I don't think I can make it any plainer for you. We know for a fact that you and your...actors...performed at Carrigul two seasons back. You know the lay of the land, so to speak. And you're the only ones who have ever gone there more than once, so you're the only ones who will go back. We would like you to help us scout out the land and see exactly what it is we're up against."

Pyracantha's smile did not meet her dramatically lined and painted eyes. "You would like, or you need?"

"Does it matter, really?" Flax asked with a sigh. "We're prepared to pay you. We knew you wouldn't do this-or anything noble, for that matter-for free. Here."

He tossed her a small pouch. Her paw snatched it up, and she nodded in approval at the telltale jangle.

"Half now, half later."

"That's all well and good, but I believe there's something you're still not telling me, dear."

She enjoyed the look of annoyance that crossed the captain's face. "It's the weather, I know. I told Lord Aster the stormy season will be upon us soon, but he was insistent that we make haste. I've since thought about it, and I believe if we leave within the next two days, we will be fine."

Pyracantha's enjoyment was waning. She only liked games when she was certain she was winning. "No, not that. Anybeast knows it's stupid to cross the mountain pass this time of year."

Flax sized her up. "Look, if it's about meals, we'll make sure you're well fed."

The vixen had heard one too many snide comments about her slightly plump figure to waste any time being offended by the vole's ignorance. "While you were fed with a silver spoon as a child, I was begging for scraps and sleeping in hedgerows. I think I'll manage," she said frostily.

"Then I don't know what you're getting at."

It was Pyracantha's turn to sigh. "What I'm getting at, Captain dear, is why you're not telling me what will happen if I refuse to come with you."

"Oh. I see. Yes, sorry, I had thought that was obvious."

Flax snapped his claws. A dozen armed guards rounded the corner of the building opposite the cart and had the pair of them surrounded in a trice.

Pyracantha hopped down from the cart and curtsied. "Thank you. If I am to be your prisoner, I would appreciate if you could at least be honest with me."

Flax waved a paw. "Oh, 'prisoner' is such an ugly word. I'd prefer to think of you more as...contractually obligated."

"Well played, Captain." Pyracantha giggled wickedly. Maybe this vole wasn't as boring as she'd initially thought. She might well make a game of this yet.

Two days later, the small contingent of guards headed by Captain Flax, Pyracantha and her small acting troupe, and several merchants being escorted over the mountain pass set off on their journey. On the first day or two, they made good time on the winding mountain road, laden down as they were with the actors' cart and several smaller merchant carts. But none of them could ignore the ominous clouds steadily rolling in. And then, in the evening of the second day of the journey, the already cool temperature dropped until they shivered, their laboring breaths coming out in misty puffs. Then snowflakes began to flutter down, slowly at first, but as night began to swallow them up the way ahead was nigh invisible, and it was all anybeast could do to blink the dratted snowflakes out of their eyes.

"Captain, we need to find shelter," a mouse guard advised Flax.

"I know that," the vole snapped. "There should be a small cave in about a half a mile. Those who don't have carts can shelter in that. Tell those merchants to pick up the pace, will you, Kephart? This bit of road worries me even in the best of conditions."

The mouse nodded and turned to go, just as a shriek rent the air. Flax whirled about, spear at the ready, but the danger was from no enemy. The actors' cart had slid sideways in the slick snow. The two burly stoats pulling the cart lost their footing and fell heavily into each other.

"Marm!" one of the actors yelled.

Pyracantha lunged at one of the wheels and tried to pull it back away from the edge of the narrow road, but the damage was done. With a groan and an ugly scraping sound, the old cart slid over the edge and toppled out into nothingness, the two stoats bellowing and howling as their harnesses took them with it. Before Flax even had a chance to react, the cart was gone.

"No..." Pyracantha sank to her knees in the snow.

Flax made to go to her, to see if she and the other actors were all right, but he also fell to his knees. Perplexed, he tried to rise, but the ground rumbled and shook so badly that he couldn't.

"Everybeast, move!" he shouted uselessly.

The road was beneath him one moment, and then it wasn't. His heart leapt to his throat, muting him as they all fell into blackness.

The first thing Flax felt was something tugging at his belt. He lay still for a moment, waiting as the events of the night before trickled back into his sluggish mind. He opened an eye, wincing at the way the morning light made his head throb even harder, and was not surprised to see it was Pyracantha searching his belt.

"I don't have the other half on me, Miss Dewhurst," he growled, "Lord Aster does."

The vixen drew back with a pout. "Some thanks I get for pulling you out of the rubble."

Flax sat up. It had stopped snowing for the moment at least, though it looked as though it could again at any moment. They had fallen into an unfamiliar valley. High above them, the road had crumbled. Flax knew something like this would happen eventually. That was why Lord Aster was always having them accompany merchants and travelers nowadays.

The vole spied the shaft of his spear sticking out of the snow and rubble and reached for it. He tugged it free, surprised it was undamaged, and turned to find Pyracantha brandishing his dagger.

"Crafty wench," he snarled.

"Such an ugly term," she chided. "I much prefer to think of myself as 'opportunistic.' Besides, you're not really in a place to be exercising authority over me anymore. I mean, look around."

The both rose, slowly, eyeing each other warily. Then the full weight of the situation suckerpunched the vole, and he groaned. Rubble and snow stretched before them in the valley as far as he could see. He was amazed the two of them were even alive after a slide like that.

"Are there any other survivors?" he asked.

"Not sure. I was going to check after collecting my fee. My cart's smashed to bits back there and Korteg and Garrick are both dead. Not _exactly_ what I signed up for, you know."

"You think this is my fault?" Flax growled. "It's...no, never mind, I'm not even going to get into that. I'm still trying to wrap my head around more important things, like getting everyone else out of this alive. Now come on."

He set off through the rubble, Pyracantha following in his wake.

"So what's the plan, anyway? Supposing we do find anyone else, how are we going to get out of this mess?"

Flax straightened his now damp and muddy uniform and cloak. There would be no washing it now, but there were more important things to worry about. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Miss Dewhurst."


	2. Prologue 2: Like a Stone

**2. Prologue 2: Like a Stone**

_By: Tara_

"And fetch me some of that brandy that crazy weasel family to the south makes. Hopfit's? Yes, Hopfit's. Smelly, shifty little blighters, but they make a good brandy. Make sure I have plenty of it. Got to stay warm in those mountains somehow."

"Yes, Sir!"

Flax paused at the front door of Lord Aster's house and turned to his aide-de-camp. "And Kephart?"

"Yes, Sir?" the mouse asked.

"Do make sure Pyracantha and her riffraff don't get anywhere near it."

"Absolutely, Sir."

The vole captain left Kephart to his duties and entered Aster's home. The quiet in the bright but sparsely decorated house was an almost tangible thing. Flax never felt at ease here. All he felt was a strange, misplaced sense of guilt.

"Lord Aster is in the dining room, Captain."

Flax flinched. He had hardly noticed the squirrel approaching him from a room off the entrance hall until he spoke. The vole cleared his throat and nodded officiously, strolling down the hall and off through another door, the one he knew led to the long dining room. Afternoon sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting its golden beams across the long banquet table, bare but for a simple arrangement of autumnal foliage. Flax's eyes searched the room, and it was of no great surprise to the vole that the creature he sought stood at the far end, near an ornate, unlit fireplace. The cheery sunlight did not venture to this end of the room.

"Lord Aster," Flax said as he approached.

The purple coifed head slowly turned, and a pair of fierce golden eyes met Flax's. "Ah, Captain. I was expecting you," the merlin falcon said, his voice bearing no sign of joy, expectancy, or even disappointment. Just the words themselves. Flax had trained himself not to be off-put by the bird's greeting.

"Very good, my Lord. I have procured the vixen Pyracantha and her troupe. They are in our custody."

Aster's talons tip-tapped against the oak floorboards as he turned to face Flax properly. "Good. She should be a valuable asset. And are you and your guards ready?"

"Absolutely, my Lord. And the merchant escorts will be ready at the appointed time, or be left behind."

Aster shook his head. "No, I don't think that is wise. I don't wish for any to be left behind so late in the season."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Flax."

"Yes, Lord Aster?"

The bird's gaze missed nothing. "You have doubts."

The vole opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I just...I don't think...I wonder, Lord, why _now_? Surely Carrigul can be avoided for another season or two, and when the weather is better...Why could we not go then?"

"Rumors." It was always the same answer. It had always been in the weeks leading up to this. Really, it was always the same answer with Carrigul. "Carrigul is stirring now, and they will be waiting for clement weather, which is why we must not."

"But what rumors?"

The question hung for a moment on the air, and Flax wished he could have pulled it back in, from the dark, pained look it caused to cross Aster's face. For what felt like an eternity, the pair of them held silent, and Flax was almost sure the merlin was not going to speak, but finally his curved beak parted.

"Have you ever heard of...Tikora?"

Flax blanched.

"I see that you have."

"She's the one old Lord Cedar was always talking about." Flax inwardly kicked himself for bringing the badger's name up. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. Cedar the closest thing I ever had to a father, or family at all, but his memory lives on."

"He was a great beast, Lord."

Aster simply nodded. "There have been reports of Tikora being spotted on the mountain pass, along with some of her minions. Carrigul is getting closer. We cannot have them take the mountains. If we lose that route, we lose our northern trade route."

"But, Lord, surely..."

"Captain!"

Flax was shocked by the merlin's sudden shriek. The bird's feathers practically stood on end and his eyes blazed with anger.

"Did you ask Lord Cedar this many questions, too?"

Flax was mortified. "I didn't mean..."

_"They will not take the pass, Captain!"_ Aster cried. "They cannot."

Suddenly he deflated, his head drooping. "I am sorry."

Flax didn't know what to say. He felt a fresh pang of guilt. The small falcon, once a proud and regal figure, now so humbled...

"I have not told anyone this, but Tikora," he said as he tried to raise his left wing—bound as it always was in a grey silk sling—and let out a sharp cry of pain, "did this to me. It was her, those years ago. The first and last time I ever was stupid enough to go to Carrigul. I let my dear friend down then. If Cedar could see what a fool I've become, he would never have named me his successor."

Aster shut his eyes and turned his head away. "I can't fail him, Flax. I can't. Yew must not fall to Carrigul."

"Yes," the vole began weakly, before clearing his throat. "Yes, my Lord. We shall make the first move, and it will be the last thing Carrigul is expecting."

"Thank you, Captain. That will be all," Aster said without turning.

Flax crossed the room but stopped at the door. "My Lord?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"It may not be my place to say this, but I don't think you're a fool. I don't think Lord Cedar would have thought so either."

Aster still hadn't turned. Flax waited for a moment, and he was just reaching for the door handle when he heard the merlin's voice, faint but clear.

"Thank you, Captain."

~

Flax stared into Kephart's wide, lifeless eyes. They'd found him in the rubble; a stone nearly twice the mouse's size lay across his chest and lower body, crushing him. A dried stream of blood caked his cheek, his lips parted in an expression of pained surprise. Some snow had already settled on his face. The vole swept a paw over Kephart's eyelids, but they were frozen open.

"A friend of yours?"

The vole turned to Pyracantha, who stood a few paces back out of respect. "He was a damn good guard, the best aide-de-camp I've ever had."

Pyracantha looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. The pair moved on, clambering over the massive pile of rubble, their limbs aching, drenched, and so cold. It wasn't long before Flax heard the vixen gasp. He carefully made his way over to where she crouched, her paws clasping a single paw jutting out of the landslide.

"Are they...?" he began.

"It's ice cold," the vixen answered. "Oh, Hestia..."

"She was a Dewhurst Player, then?" Flax asked.

Pyracantha lovingly stroked the cold paw, picking bits of grit and mud out of its chestnut fur. "One of the first and greatest. My sister, sister dear."

"Looks like a stoat's paw to me."

"Do you have family, Flax?"

The vole was slightly taken aback by the question. "Just my wife, Kela, and my daughter, Netta, back in Yew."

Pyracantha did not look up from her absentminded fussing over Hestia's paw. "And did you not choose them?"

"Well," the vole said, rubbing his chin, "I suppose that's true, but that's not what I..."

"And so I choose my family," Pyracantha said firmly, "because no family chose me. My Dewhurst Players are all my family."

Flax watched the vixen pull off one of her many rings, a simple gold affair set with a turquoise stone, and slide it onto one of the dead stoat's digits. She murmured something he couldn't quite make out, kissed the paw, and then stood, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

"Well, come along now, Captain. I'll teach you a lesson yet about family."

She made her way down the pile of rubble toward the valley floor, muttering something about beasts from Yew. Flax made to move, but his footpaw caught on something. He reached down and unearthed a linen strap. With some tugging, he unearthed a familiar haversack. He opened it, his heart doing a little backflip for joy. Four miraculously unbroken bottles of Hopfit's brandy! Fates bless that Kephart. Best damn aide-de-camp he'd ever had.


	3. The Fall

**3. The Fall**

_By: Poko_

The young ferret's teeth chattered and her body trembled with the cold. Snowflakes lighted onto her face fur, collecting into a glittery coat that lightened her natural mask. She blinked. Her lashes and whiskers were stiff with tiny bits of ice.

"It feels like my bogies are freezing." Poko sniffed and clutched the old hedgehog robe tighter around her shoulders, causing the imitation spines to stand up. Gashrock's costume was not meant to be a coat, but it was the warmest thing Poko could find in her quick search of the actors' cart when the temperature first dropped. Her father gave her a sideways hug, warming her slightly. Her mother shivered on his other side, scowling through squinted eyes at the blizzard. She wrapped a scarf across her muzzle and seized her husband's other arm. Bunched together it was more difficult to walk but it was warmer, and Poko was happy to see her mother so close to her father, even if only for warmth. Poko knew it was her fault that her parents had argued the other night. _Everyone_ knew. In such a small troupe it was difficult to find privacy.

_"You coddle her! That child needs discipline! Why do I always have to be the villain?"_ Poko remembered her mother's hard words. Her father had defended her – like always. Poko specialized in finding trouble, it seemed, and her father was always making excuses for her. Her mother was afraid of being thrown out in the streets again after all her hard work. Pyracantha appeared sympathetic enough, but nothing should be taken for granted. Her father made light of the matter in front of Poko, but she could tell he was concerned as well. Their livelihood depended on the vixen's favor. They were lucky to be a part of the traveling show at all. Poko credited their fortune largely to her mother's beautiful dancing ability. She herself had not inherited that enviable grace.  
Poko slipped and her father's supporting arm helped her regain her footing.

"Whoa there!" he chuckled. The mountain road under their feet was becoming icy. Ahead, there was a sudden shriek of alarm as the fancy painted actors' cart began to glide sideways across the snow-coated earth toward the dangerous outward edge. Then it vanished. The actors' cart, along with the strong-armed stoats who pulled it, was gone. The family of ferrets halted, wide-eyed and disbelieving, when a deep rumble and shudder of the earth caused everyone to start shouting in panic. In an instant, the solid ground vanished beneath the group of travelers in a crumbling tumble of dirt, rocks and debris.

Poko felt her stomach rise sickeningly as she plummeted through space, too lost for breath to scream. She felt the crunch as they hit an outcrop. Her body jarred at the impact, and she was sure this would be the last experience of her short life. However, she continued to tumble and roll, pierced by sticks and scraped, battered and gouged by flying rocks until she slammed up against a pile of snow which absorbed the last of her momentum. Poko looked up and shielded her eyes as a mix of dust, snow and trailing pebbles showered down from the cavity in the mountain that used to be a road. A boulder the size of a badger pinwheeled through the air and landed beside her with an awful thud, inches from where her father lay. Panic-stricken, she leapt to her feet, oblivious to the fact that one of her toes was barely attached. Her breath came in quick short gasps as she stumbled around on all fours, staggering at last to the unaffected edge of the forest, several yards from the massive pile of rocks, dirt, and jutting spikes of broken trees. Something warm ran into her eye and she wiped it clear, streaking her fur red. She gawked at the blood on her paw in surprise. Shock and adrenaline numbed her yet to the pain of her many small wounds.

The dust cleared. Poko started thinking more clearly. She ran back to her parents, who were still buried in the rubble. Quaking, she approached the giant rock where she had last seen her father. His body was twisted unnaturally, and he lay in a limp heap like a broken puppet. His eyes bulged and stared blankly, mouth ajar. Snow was beginning to settle on the dull, vacant orbs. A slow long wail began to arise from deep within the young ferret – a hauntingly feral howl of grief. She threw herself against the still body of her adored father, clutching at him. He had taken the brunt of their deadly collision with the outcrop. Tears, mixed with drool, snot, and blood dampened the dead ferret's bright blue cotton jacket. Poko pressed her face into his chest, wracked with whimpers and sobs. So great was her sorrow that she almost did not hear the moans of her mother emanating from the opposite side of the boulder.

"Mati?" Poko's voice cracked as she hurried over to the other side of the great rock.

"Poko…my little sprite." Her mother smiled from her position on the ground, her voice much calmer than it ought to be with a splintered piece of wood the size of an arm sticking through her thigh. The snow around the leg was scarlet and her breaths were coming short. "Come here." She reached out, beckoning. Poko approached her mother dumbly, gaping at the bloody spire of wood.

"Oh Mati…" She sunk to her knees and wept bitterly while her mother drew her close, stroking her half-grown daughter affectionately.

"Shh. I'm so glad you're okay, Poko."

"I'm sorry – I'm so sorry, Mati…"

"It's alright. You'll get through this, my little kit."

"Papa's dead. He's dead, Mati. I'm scared."

"You've got to be smart, my darling – and strong. Find a safe place – it's too cold."

"I'm not leaving you." Poko held onto her last surviving parent stubbornly.

"Night is falling…my little sprite."

"We'll keep each other warm." In the dusky fading light, Poko gathered armfuls of pine branches, forming them into a makeshift nest around her mother and herself. She snuggled close, sharing her protective hedgehog robe, but her mother's body slowly grew cold.


	4. Death on the Snowfield

**4. Death on the Snowfield**

_By: Nyika_

"Zevka…

"Zevka, wake up.

"… Zevka."

A cold and shaky paw reached from where Nyika found herself tangled in a thick blanket, searching for the pine marten that lay no more than a pace away. The wildcat's claws came out, leaving their sheaths to rest on Zevka's arm, grasping her fur as Nyika attempted a feeble pull to bring her closer.

Zevka was still warm. Alive, then? Or just died? Nyika tried to watch for the steady rise and fall of her chest, the puff of fog above her muzzle, but it was too dark. Nyika couldn't see a thing. Had the wagon overturned? It would explain the pitch blackness, the cold snow that dampened her fur and chilled her to the bone.

"Zevka." She tried again, a hint of despair in her tone. Though she had met the pine marten no more than a week ago and was not yet ready to call her a friend, it was nice for once to have a companion that was not dead. She hoped she hadn't lost that. Twisting in the blanket Nyika loosened her bindings, pulling herself free and crawling to the marten's side. Her shoulder ached and her left arm dragged behind her. She paid it no mind. She was alive, and thus Nyika was unconcerned for her own well-being. Her right paw went to Zevka's throat, searching for that steady drum of a pulse. There it was; strong, not weak at all. Nyika breathed a sigh of relief, resting her head on Zevka's chest, her ear twitching at the soft exhale of breath from the marten's nose. Still alive, then. Thank the fates.

Lifting her head, the wildcat took stock of their situation. They were most definitely contained in some sort of shelter, and the cold breeze that wafted above betrayed the large crack that ran the length of the wagon's bottom. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see it. Dim light filtered through the thin opening, one spot obstructed by a large boulder that sat on top of them. Nyika shuddered. If they hadn't been so lucky….

Dispelling such unnerving thoughts, Nyika turned her attention to Zevka, leaning over her serene features and resting her paw against the pine marten's cheek. Beasts always were the most peaceful in sleep and death. Nyika almost considered them one and the same, the only difference being that death was a sleep in which one would never wake. She didn't want to disturb her. Zevka seemed so peaceful, but they needed to move. Something had happened, an avalanche, or something terrible. Already Nyika could hear the dead stirring, the moaning in her ears growing to an unnerving pitch. They had to leave, to survive.

Placing her paw on Zevka's body, Nyika gave a small shake, hissing as she jostled her bad arm. Nothing. Despite the pain she tried it again, this time speaking her name. Still nothing. Nyika looked over her shoulder, her breath shortening, her chest tightening, her fur rising as she felt this foreboding sense of terror surround her.

"Zevka..." she whined, shaking her harder. Stooping forward, Nyika licked the bridge of the pine marten's muzzle. Then she was falling backwards, her nose having exploded in pain. A warm, metallic liquid dripped into her mouth and Nyika's paw went in instinct to staunch the flow of blood.

"What in Hellgates are you doing?" Zevka snarled.

Nyika's ears were pinned flat against her head as the wildcat arched her back in defense.

"I ... I don't know," she said. "I thought you were dead."

Zevka scoffed, picking herself up to sit on her haunches. She rolled her eyes at the cowering cat. "Wouldn't you of all beasts be able to figure that out easily enough?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know! Why did you have to hit me?"

"Because for all I know you could have been looting my corpse."

"I don't disrespect the dead," Nyika snapped back, then decided too late to bite her tongue after the words had been spoken. She winced.

"No," Zevka said, musing. Her demeanor changed as she sought to consider Nyika and her gift. "I suppose you wouldn't."

Nyika didn't notice, too busy dealing with her bloodied nose. "I think you broke my nose."

"Old habits die hard. That's a lesson: Don't grab ex-hordesbeasts while they're asleep!"

"I didn't think you were asleep." The cat's whiskers drooped, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

Zevka sighed. "Come here; let me take a look at it," she said, beckoning the wildcat. Nyika complied, slinking over to her side. Grabbing Nyika's face, she ran her paws down the length of her muzzle, checking for any bones that might be out of place. "You're fine. Put some snow on it." She gave an audible huff at Nyika's sniff. "Oh, relax. You're too soft to be a vermin. I'm helping you build character."

"Thanks," Nyika muttered in defeat, then scooped up a pawful of snow to press against her nose. She could already feel the warm crimson bleeding through.

Zevka turned to their surroundings, her head scraping the bottom of the wagon. She scratched at the wood. "Do you know what happened?"

"No, but..." She paused, her voice taking on a fevered pitch. "The dead are stirring."

"Interesting." Zevka paused at her scratching. "What makes you say that?"

"I can hear them. Wailing, shouting. Something terrible has happened."

"Well, yes, I can figure that out easily enough. We're in an overturned wagon, probably the same one we were riding in. Do you remember falling? I do. Our eyes locked, and then there was blackness."

"An avalanche?"

"I hope not. We'll never dig ourselves out. Come on, help me lift this," Zevka said, grabbing Nyika's paw and pulling her to the edge of the wagon.

It was the wrong paw to grab. A shockwave of fiery pain lanced through the wildcat's arm, crippling her. Nyika pulled back, howling as she fought the overbearing sense of agony that left her cowering at the other side of the wagon. It felt as though Zevka had ripped her arm out of her socket.

Zevka cursed. "What happened?"

"I can't move my arm," Nyika said between gasps of pain. "I think it's broken."

Zevka cursed again, this time a more eloquent phrase that would have set Nyika a certain shade of red if she was not too busy whimpering in the darkness. "I won't be able to do this by myself!"

Nyika hissed through her teeth, clutching her arm tight against her body. "There's a crack," she offered.

"A crack?"

"Above you." She gave a sharp inhale.

Nyika could hear Zevka's claws scratching once more at the wood. "Ahh," she said once she had found it. "You have good eyes."

The wildcat sat with her back against the wood. Her head was swimming; she felt like she was going to sick up. "It won't matter much," she said, trying hard to keep the bile from rising. "I think it's too small."

"Never underestimate the power of a mustelid," Zevka said. Nyika watched as the pine marten sat up on her haunches, shoving her thin head in the small crevice that traveled the length of the wagon bottom. A few twists, shakes, and burrows later and her head had cleared the crack. The rest of her body followed suit.

"That's all well and good, but how am I supposed to fit through?" Nyika called after her, a twinge of annoyance in her tone.

"Check the ground for supplies," Zevka called back, poking her nose through the crack. "We couldn't have been the only things in the wagon when it overturned. My knapsack should be somewhere about."

Biting her lip, Nyika complied, hissing at the pain in her arm as she made a blind search for anything that might help widen the crack. Zevka had set to pulling at the planks with her paws, her grunting and groaning magnified in the small space Nyika had been left alone in. The wildcat's paw scanned the ground, encountering a few scattered belongings, a tussled up blanket, and a loaf of bread. Nyika shoved the bread in her mouth before continuing the search, passing Zevka a knapsack and crying out when her paw came across the iron head of a small hatchet.

" 'Ere!" she shouted between the loaf, handing off the hatchet. Zevka was quick to receive it, and Nyika sat back chewing as the pine marten made quick work of the wagon bottom.

"Give me your paw," Zevka said once she had made a large enough hole and hoisted the wildcat atop the wagon. "It's a good thing we were caught beneath that wagon, else we would have surely died."

Nyika's eyes glossed over the platform, the large boulder and debris that had come with it an afterthought in her mind. That was not what had caught her attention. With ears perked and whiskers drooping, Nyika's tail bottle brushed at the noise that had magnified within her ears.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

She could hear them now clearly; no more muffled by the wood, filtering through the crack. They were crying out to her, wailing, shouting, their voices surrounding her, deafening her senses. They were dead, all dead, and they were just now realizing it. It was like an angry mob, a swarm of bees, and Nyika could do nothing to quell the sound of their distress. Tears filled her eyes, coming unbidden; her paw clutching at one of her ears while the other ear twitched, her arm limp at her side.

"Nyika?" Zevka's voice filtered through like a beacon in a fog. Nyika clung to it, focused on it, the only thing that could lead her back from the brink of insanity. "Nyika, what's wrong?"

"They're dead." Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She swallowed, forcing the lump in her throat downwards, and tried again. "Zevka, they're dead. They're all dead."

"They're not all dead," Zevka said, but her voice was hollow, as though she wasn't sure she believed it herself. "They can't all be dead."

Nyika shook her head. "They don't know, or they're just finding out. Zevka, what do I do? I can't comfort them. I don't know where they are!"

"They're not all dead," Zevka repeated. "Nyika, you're shaking. Look at me. Look at me!"

The wildcat's head twisted in a sudden jerk, pain blossoming across her muzzle. Her paw dropped from pulling at her ear to rub the spot where Zevka had slapped her. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Everything—" Zevka started, but was interrupted when she found Nyika had thrown herself against her, the wildcat's good paw clutching at her back. Zevka hesitated, then wrapped her arms around the frightened kitten in a secure hug, stroking the raised fur at the back of her neck. "Everything is all right. We're alive, and that's all that matters."

"Oh, Zevka," Nyika said, her voice shuddering with her own sobs. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her claws came out, piercing through cloth and fur alike, burying deep into Zevka's flesh. The pine marten winced but she allowed it. Zevka was real, physical. She wasn't dead; she was still alive. They were both alive. So many were not. Nyika buried her face in Zevka's shoulder. "I don't know what to do."

There was nothing to say so Zevka didn't say anything, opting simply to hold the cat as one would comfort a crying babe. Her ear twitched at a faint noise, far off in the distance. "Nyika, listen. Do you hear that? Somebeast is crying."

Nyika shook her head, sobbing into the fur at Zevka's neck. "They're all crying! They don't know! They're all crying."

"No, listen. I think somebeast is still alive."

"They're dead, all of them. They're all dead…"

"Nyika, stop it! Listen, I can't hear the dead like you can. As far as I can tell, the only thing howling is the wind and one little voice off in the distance. If I can hear that voice, that means somebeast out there is still alive. I want you to stay here. I'm going to find them and bring them back." With ginger care, Zevka peeled Nyika's claws from her clothing and stepped away.

"No, please," Nyika said. "Don't leave me."

Zevka looked out to the distance, then back at Nyika. She shook her head. "Your arm is broken. I might have to scale the cliff face. You're safer here."

Nyika blinked her eyes; two fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "Don't leave me alone."

Once more Zevka hesitated, turning to the source of the crying and then back to the miserable wildcat she was leaving behind. She sighed. "Come on, then. But be careful."

Nyika nodded, following her to the edge of the wagon. Zevka stepped down then offered a paw to Nyika, which she was grateful in taking. Still, the step off was steeper than she anticipated, and the impact was jarring enough to force a whimper from her. Zevka gritted her teeth but pressed on.

They were located on a small ledge, only twenty paces below the collapsed road. When Nyika realized this, casting her eyes about in fearful glances for anything that might catch her unawares, she knew just how lucky they were. It was a sickening drop to the field below, the cliff face sheer and jagged like a torn loaf of bread. Holding her broken arm close to her side, she kept her eyes alert and her ears protected, pinning them to the back of her head as she hummed a little ditty to herself.

There were few ghosts on the treacherous path Zevka was taking them. Still, Nyika found herself stumbling, forcing the pine marten to halt and steady the wildcat as her eyes became locked on some apparition standing over their dead body, some times scratching their head, other times sitting in misery. Some times they would look at her and see her looking at them. Those were the ones that called for help, the ones clutching their legs and arms, thinking them broken and not realizing their necks were on backwards, or that the real problem was the fact that their chest had been crushed. They were also the ones that were mad, bitter that some had survived and cheated Vulpuz when their death had been so sudden and unexpected. They would rush her, screaming at the unfairness of it all, how they had a mate and kits back in Yew, demanding to know how she had survived and came out unscathed despite her broken arm. Oftentimes Nyika would halt their trek, crouching down to cover her ears in a vain attempt to ignore them, applying words to her song as she rocked back and forth in tears.

"Can they hurt you?" Zevka asked the third time she had convinced the wildcat to rise and continue walking.

"They try," Nyika said, pressing her body close to Zevka, her face buried in the pine marten's soft neck fur. "Sometimes when they're mad enough, they do."

Zevka turned her head, noticing for the first time the fresh scratches on Nyika's muzzle. Lifting the wildcat's head, she spied more that had been drawn on her neck. She looked at her paw, noting the way it glistened red, but she couldn't be sure if it was from her bloodied nose or something else.

"Why don't they attack me?" Zevka asked.

"They know I can see."

"How?"

"Because I can look at them."

Zevka pushed the cat in front of her. "Face up, eyes forward. They can't know if you don't pay them attention, aye?"

Nyika nodded. "They're following us," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"They'll leave when they realize we don't care. Come on, we're almost there."

Looking ahead, Nyika could see the small hedgehog kit cowering beside a pile of rubble. Swiveling her ears forward, she could finally hear the crying that Zevka had spoken of. "Is she…"

"Alive? Yes, I see her. Come on."

Being forced to lead and keeping her eyes glued on their destination, Nyika stumbled in the narrow path that separated them from the hedgehog kit. Strange enough, they found her hovering over the still form of a ferret. Another lay not far away.

"Hey," Zevka said. "What's your name?"

The hedgehog kit looked up, wiping her eyes as she realized she was no longer alone. "Poko."

Nyika furrowed her brow. Her voice wasn't gruff like a hedgehog's, and her muzzle was too dark to match. "You're a ferret."

"Yes," Poko said, a note of annoyance in her tone. She looked at Nyika. "You're a wildcat."

"I'm sorry," Nyika replied, casting her eyes away to the dead jill at her side. "We thought you were a hedgehog."

"Oh. Yes." Poko hunched her shoulders, the quills of her back splaying.

"It's a very good costume," Zevka said.

Poko grunted, curling up against the cold, lifeless jill.

A lump grew in Nyika's throat, her chest tightening with the sorrow that enveloped her. Her grip tightened around her broken arm and she took a shuddering breath. "She was your mother."

The ferret raised her head, her eyes narrowing as she bared her teeth in a vicious glare. Nyika was lost as to what to do. She felt compelled to comfort the young ferret, but she didn't know how.

"She's still here," she said, hoping to soothe the kit's distress.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Are you thick?" Poko growled, her eyes glistening with furious tears. "She's dead! I've checked and she's cold and stiff and dead!"

Nyika pulled her arm, pain blossoming up her shoulder. It was something to focus on, a distraction from the horror of what she had just done. She opened her mouth to explain herself when Zevka put a paw on her and stepped forward.

"Pay her no mind," the pine marten said, stooping down next to the ferret kit and deflecting the conversation. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't think you are. Let me take a look at you."

While Zevka fussed over the ferret kit, Nyika turned to the spectre that stood off to the side; a pale female ferret with a torn and bloodied dancer's outfit and a wicked piece of wood sticking out of her leg. Nyika didn't know what to say. Tears slid down her cheeks as she stole a glance back at Poko.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"Then you shouldn't have said anything," the dead ferret said, anger lacing her words. A chill swept through the ledge, causing Nyika's fur to stand on edge.

"I didn't know what to do."

"You mock her."

"I don't mean to!"

"Yet you do."

"What would you have me do?" Nyika said in aggravation, unaware that she had caught the attention of Zevka and Poko. "Tell the kit you left her alone to die?"

"What is she doing? Who is she talking to?" Poko's voice cut in like a dagger through flesh.

"Nobeast," Zevka said, flicking the ferret kit's nose. "Ignore her. She's just muttering to herself."

Poko growled, swatting Zevka's paw away. The ferret rose in a rage.

"Is she pretending to talk to my Mati? What game is she playing at!"

"No game," Zevka said. "Settle down! Your toe is near torn off your footpaw!"

"She's lingering!" Nyika shouted, turning to the ferret kit with ears pinned back and a scowl on her face.

"What, are you saying she can still be saved? She's dead!" Poko yelled. "I watched her die! I was there!" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And she's not coming back."

Despite the harm she knew she was causing, Nyika was relentless. "But she's not at rest! She's here, watching over you!"

Poko scoffed. "And my Papa? Is he here, too?"

Nyika looked around, but it was only the dead jill standing with head in her paws.

"No," she announced.

"Then you're wrong." Poko's voice could melt the snow with the heat in her tone. "Why would she stay and not my Papa, too?"

"I don't know," Nyika said simply.

"You're a real nasty piece of work, aren't ya, cat?" Poko spat and stormed away, Zevka following in her wake.

Finding herself alone with the ghost, Nyika exhaled in exasperation, wondering if it was not too late to go running off in a different direction. Zevka was right, she never should have come. Being lectured by dead and live alike—it was too much for her.

"I loved her."

The words were unexpected. Nyika's ears swiveled to the dead jill, her head following. She hesitated. "I know you did."

"But does she?"

Nyika opened her mouth, but she didn't know what to say. "She must."

"It was always about her father. And me … I was always second."

"You were a good mother," Nyika tried.

"Was I?"

The wildcat nodded. "You have to be. Else you wouldn't have lingered. You wanted to be sure she was safe."

"And is she?"

Nyika was not sure. "She's in good paws, now. We'll take care of her. You needn't worry about her any more."

The mother nodded, watching the pair disappear into the snowy night. "Oh, my dear, sweet Poko. If only you knew how much I cared." There were tears in her eyes.

Nyika stepped forward, releasing her broken arm to put her paw where the dead jill's muzzle would be. It wasn't solid, but the action was enough. "She does, or will. I'll be sure of that."

The dead jill stepped back. "You are a strange one, wildcat. I know I am dead, but you … you are not."

Nyika nodded, rubbing the back of her neck with a paw. "I know."

The snow and wind were beginning to pick up. The longer she remained the less chance she had of rejoining Zevka and Poko. "I should go, and you, too. Your mate is waiting."

"Take care of my Poko," the dead jill said. "My little sprite." And with a flurry of snowflakes she was gone.

It was a long, lonely trek back to the wagon and despite Zevka's advice, Nyika found it difficult to ignore the ghosts that persisted along the route. The bitter ones had gathered into a group, blocking her path, but with eyes glued to the ground and a song in her head Nyika trudged through the masses. These were ghosts she could not avoid, the ones that knew her for what she was, and after spying what she could do to the ferret jill, they demanded she help them rest as well. With a stoic heart she ignored them. She could not help them now and it enraged them to find her so callous and unmoving. Nyika sang to herself, fresh tears in her eyes as she accepted their jeers, shuddering as she felt their claws rake her flesh.

At some point she collapsed, curling into a little ball and rocking back and forth, her paw gripping her broken arm in a vice-like grip. She focused on the pain; it kept the wailing at bay, the jeers and the cries from all the beasts that had died. She sang to herself over and over the quieting little song that the vixen seer had sung to her since she was a kit.

"Soft Nyika, warm Nyika,  
Little ball of fur.  
Happy Nyika, sleepy Nyika,  
Purr, purr, purr.

"Soft Nyika, warm Nyika,  
Little ball of fur.  
Happy Nyika, sleepy Nyika,  
Purr, purr, purr."

"Nyika."

The cat opened her eyes at the familiar voice, relief flooding her senses at the sight of Zevka standing over her. The pine marten offered her a paw.

"Poko's back at the wagon. Come on, you'll freeze to death out here by yourself."

Nyika nodded, taking Zevka's paw and rising with a tremor. Together they traversed the rest of the mountain pass, Nyika putting one footpaw in front of the other, her paw gripping Zevka's tight, her broken arm hanging limp at her side. It was cold, her scratches stung in dull aches, and the wailing deafened her ears. Her mind had entered a translucid state; her senses felt dulled, and time seemed to last forever. One footpad in front of the other. One footpaw in front of the other. She felt like she was swimming.

"We're here."

The words floated across her consciousness like a leaf on a river, just out of reach and drifting farther and farther away. Zevka had to repeat herself before Nyika heard her properly. The wildcat blinked. There was the wagon, right before her eyes, the same one with the boulder and debris strewn about. Sitting atop the wagon was Poko, huddled in her little hedgehog cloak and glaring at her. Nyika sighed.

"Relax," Zevka said. "I spoke to her, and we reached an understanding."

"Did you really?" said Nyika, not sure she believed it.

"No, but I tried."

"Thanks," Nyika muttered, but Poko's impression of her was not her concern. The wailing was growing worse. When before it was simply the beasts killed by the landslide, now they were joined by those who had survived it. The ones with broken bones and internal suffering, dying of cold and shock and murder. It was too much for her to bear.

"Nyika, what's wrong?"

There was legitimate concern in the pine marten's voice. She had seen the way the wildcat was shaking, clawing at her ears and pulling her whiskers.

"They're still dying," Nyika whispered. "They're still dying out there."

"We can't help them. We have to leave them be."

"I can't do that. Oh, Zevka, I can't do that to them." Turning away from the wagon, Nyika walked to the edge of the ledge. The noise was overbearing. She had to see.

Peering over the ledge Nyika looked down the cliff face, her tail bottle brushing at the sight before her. Never had she seen so much death in one place at one time. It was horrifying. The wildcat paled watching the dead wander about, discovering their deaths and seeking reasons for it. She watched them mass together like a growing hive descending upon the weak, tormenting those close to death. They were ruthless. Nyika fell back, gasping, once more rolling into a little ball and rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. What if they scaled upwards? What if they found them? What would she do? What could she do? She was losing her mind. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, the lines of her little song coming out unnerved and shaky. She was losing her mind.

Taking one deep, shuddering breath, Nyika screamed.


	5. At the Mountains of Madness

**5. At the Mountains of Madness**

_By: Zevka_

Nyika had taken Zevka completely by surprise with her feral scream, and the marteness had spent a few agonizing seconds trying to figure out what to do about it (not to mention Nyika's precarious position near the cliff), before finally settling on the tried and true "comforting words and roughing her up" method. She dragged Nyika back, then grabbed the sides of Nyika's head, forcing the distraught young wildcat to look at her.

"Nyika, please, this isn't helping! What do you see? Tell me what you see!"

"They're at the bottom of the cliff. Swarms of them, and they're all angry! They won't rest, they can't rest, and they won't let anybeast else, either."

Zevka hugged Nyika closely, hearing her gasp in pain and feeling the kitten's wet eyes press against her shoulder.

_Well, if anybeast sees me like this, I can say goodbye to my intimidation factor!_ Zevka thought, but she didn't force Nyika away immediately.

"Nyika, I want you to do something for me: don't look over that cliff again. We have no way of climbing down there and helping anybeast. But that means something else, too: they have no way of getting up here to reach us."

Zevka held Nyika just a bit longer, before letting her go. The kitten seemed to have calmed down a bit, but still looked miserable.

Zevka, after having opened and closed her muzzle a few times while trying to think of something else to say to the poor, shivering wildcat in front of her, had finally settled on taking off her outermost cloak. Hesitatingly, she wrapped it around the kitten's shoulders.

_It's a good thing I'm a pine marten, or this would be way too noble for me to stomach..._

"Just remember Nyika: we're still alive. We're already doing better than most of the group..." she said, flicking a guilty glance at Poko as she said this. She gave Nyika a more stern glance.

"And if we find anybeast else, that cloak was yours all along. I'll not have beasts I don't even know declaring that I've gone soft! That's not how you want to start off a potential power struggle. Tell anybeast, and I'll have to punch you again."

Nyika didn't look any more frightened than she had before. "Th-thanks, Zevka. It'll be our little secret, I gue-" The kitten suddenly sucked in her breath sharply, eyes going wide as she looked past Zevka's shoulder.

"There shouldn't be this many! Why Zevka? Why did all of these beasts have to die? They weren't ready, and they're not letting go!" Nyika shouted suddenly.

Poko looked more annoyed than sympathetic at the wildcat's continued laments. The ferret kit climbed down from the wagon and walked a few paces to put some distance between herself and Nyika, despite a pronounced limp.

Zevka winced at the kitten's distress. _If it wasn't for the fact that I don't believe in ghosts, I'd be really, REALLY convinced that she was seeing them. Could I have been wrong about...no, get a grip Zevka! No such thing exists! But...I think they're real to her._

"Why did we have to come here?" Nyika shouted, her voice full of terror and frustration. Zevka winced.

Why indeed...

-

_"I'm innocent, and you can't prove any of it, and nobeast will believe you! My brother falling through the ice was an accident, and that's final! I'm not going to take in his oversized brood! It's his own fault for not remarrying after Wotserface, died!" The fox stood up and slammed his paws down on the table._

The young wildcat did not back down, standing up and leaning across her table, glaring into the eyes of the much larger fox.

"Mister, you came here because you wanted to know why you're having nightmares every night, and why the sight of snow makes you queasy. Well, I'm telling you why: your brother's kits are still alive out there, but they might not make it through this winter if it keeps getting colder. He wants you and Lavsi to take them in, and he's not going to rest until you do!"

"Why would he want that? We hated each other!" the fox shouted.

"No, you hated HIM, he didn't hate you. All his life, he just wanted you to treat him like a brother, and he loved -" the adolescent feline's eyes flickered to the side as she paused midsentence; she rolled them.

"He loved Lavsi, too. He knows how much she always wanted kits, and how much it hurt her that she couldn't have them. This is his gift to her, and he hopes that maybe you'll learn to love them too."

"I've had enough of this, you little fraud! You can tell whoever put you up to this that he wasted his coins on you. A mistake I certainly won't repeat!" The fox stormed out of Nyika's tent.

Nyika sighed, then glanced up sharply. "Oh, be quiet, you. This is no time to be worried about keeping your little crush a secret! I know, I know, but I thought maybe he might think of her and take them anyways."

After a long silence, a tear sprang to Nyika's eyes. "I know, and I'm sorry! I don't know what else to—gaah! How long have you been standing there?"

The pine marten who had stuck her face through the flap of Nyika's tent grinned at her surprise.

"It's a good thing I'm not here to rob you! I'd have made off with half your belongings before you reacted to me." The marteness strolled into the tent. "Zevka's the name. Zevka Blackbriar"

"How much did you-"

"All the way up to that little post-seance conversation you had for my benefit. I gotta hand it to you – that was a stroke of genius. I don't think you're a seer. You're just very, very clever..."

Zevka walked closer and closer to Nyika as she spoke. She piped up again quickly as the wildcat's eyes narrowed and her ears backed. "And I respect that. I got your name off an acquaintance of mine. And I think he pointed me in the right direction."

Nyika's stomach growled with perfect timing.

Zevka flashed that fangy grin of hers. "Want to go get lunch? I'm buying..."

-

Zevka watched, wide-eyed as the young wildcat in front of her tore through her food.

"I guess it's a good thing I help run this place, or I'm pretty sure my coins would be moaning in pain right now."

Nyika looked slightly guilty. But only slightly. "Sorry, it's just been a long time since I've eaten this much."

Zevka chuckled. "Not at all. Like I said, my friend and I help run this place for a certain merchant – who is definitely not involved in anything illegal, and anybeast who says otherwise is lying! He doesn't have time to do everything himself, so he gets other beasts, like me, to run some of his businesses for him."

"So, why did you bring me here?"

Zevka turned serious. "I came to this town with a friend of mine from home. His name is Mekad, and he's a cat, like you. A few weeks ago, our employer, Beechton Valash, got a letter from Carrigul, inviting him to go meet with some beasts there. Valash, though, has way too much work to do here to just run off on the say so of a total stranger. So he sent Mekad. A few days ago, I got this letter."

The marteness pulled out the letter and began to read. 

"My Exquisite Darling Flower Zevka," _she crooned in an exaggeratedly saccharine voice, rolling her eyes._

The marteness returned her voice to normal. "First of all, Mekad and I are not a couple. Second, if we were a couple, and he sent me a letter this sickeningly sweet, I would go to Carrigul, punch him in the nose and ditch him. And he knows it. Anyways, he goes on for a few sentences about our imaginary romance, and then includes this little gem."

"Do you remember the mountains from back home, Zevka? These are so much larger, and a lot colder too," _Zevka read in the same cloying voice._

"No, I don't remember the mountains back home, because there weren't any. Mekad's uncle built his fortress on land as flat as this table." Zevka sighed and tossed the letter on the table.

"The whole thing is like that. Full of mistakes and references to things and beasts that are dead or never existed in the first place. Mekad wouldn't just write a letter like this. Something is very, very wrong. I need to go to Carrigul and find him. But I don't know anybeast there. That's where you come in."

"Me?" Nyika looked at Zevka, face lit up with curiosity. "Why me?"

"I need somebeast with me whose really good at reading creatures, even total strangers. I was never that good with other beasts. I need you to come with me, and help me figure out who can help me, who's hiding something, who's got a nasty secret we can use. And I know you can do these things, because otherwise you couldn't do what you just did in that tent."

Nyika shook her head. "That's not how it works! I really can -"

Zevka sighed. "Of course you can. Look, I don't really believe in mediums and seers and such. But clearly, something is letting you read beasts very, very well. And I need that something. A word of advice, though."

"What?"

"I've seen beasts who let their lives get ruled by things only they can see or hear or feel. And it doesn't end well, for them or anybeast around them." Zevka held up a silver coin. "You see, this is real. It's solid, I haven't dreamed it up. You can use it to get a meal, a roof over your head, get somebeast to fight for you, lie for you, snog you, guard your stuff, and so on. And friends - actual friends, not just beasts you have a drink with every so often - are real, too. There are way too many beasts out there who will slip a knife between your ribs for a copper, so when you find a beast who won't, you need to hang onto them, Nyika, because that's a rare thing."

The marteness leaned back. "That's why I have to get Mekad. Our tails have been tied together since we were both much younger than you. And this..." she flipped the coin in her paw to Nyika. "Is why you're going to help me. There'll be more where that came from when I find Mekad." The marteness narrowed her eyes and leaned forward

"Also, I'm going to need you to tell me some ways the beasts who kidnapped him really don't want to die, so I can know what to do to them when I find them."

The kitten's eyes went wide. She looked up at Zevka, then looked back down, then looked at Zevka. "But...the way there is so dangerous, and even once we get there..."

Zevka leaned forward. "You know what else is dangerous? Being hungry. This is a break for you, Nyika, and a beast as clever as you won't pass it up. I'll be in touch."  


Zevka looked straight into Nyika's eyes. "Nyika? Before today, I would have told anybeast, without a doubt, that I do not believe in ghosts. And maybe I still don't. But they're clearly real to you. I get that now. And I'm sorry I thought that you were faking it. This...this is not an act. 'Gates, maybe I'm wrong, and ghosts do exist. In which case.."

The marteness stood up, and looked around. She started shouting.

"Hey! Deadface! Yes, you, with the broken neck and the blood! I'm talking to you, too! I have a very simple request for all of you: GO AWAY! Stop traumatizing Nyika!"

"Zevka, stop! You'll get his attention…"

Zevka ignored Nyika. "Look, I'm sorry you're dead! Really, I am! If we could help you, then we would, but this isn't Yew. Out here, Nyika cannot get in touch with your loved ones, or take care of your kits, or do anything else for you! Leave her alone! Go find a house to haunt! Go sneak into theatres without paying! Go give some kit who isn't stranded in the mountains some nightmares! But please, do it somewhere else!"

Zevka turned back, and sighed as she saw that her belligerence towards the ghosts appeared to have not had the desired effect. Her ear twitched as she watched Nyika's fear, and listened to Poko's sniffling. The marteness was fresh out of things to say.

_Time to find something else to do._

"So, I can't do anything about the ghosts, you two, but we have much more corporeal things to worry about. We're not going to freeze to death out here immediately, but we need to find some wood to build a fire, or we won't last the night," Zevka said loudly, unsure if her words were registering with either recipient. "And we need some chow. I have a pack."

Zevka unshouldered a tattered looking knapsack covered with snow. Her face fell. She hadn't noticed it before, but it had apparently come open in the avalanche. "And not much else." The marteness dug around a bit.

"Hmm...some bandages, a spare knife, some rope, a few honey-roasted crickets..." She glanced back at Nyika. The kitten looked pretty threadbare, given the patches where her coat had thinned from overlicking, and she looked like a good meal was a rarity for her.

_I should really offer her some of-_

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHH!

Everybeast except Nyika jumped at the horrific scream that burst out of the ground next to Zevka. The marteness leapt up, paws instinctively scrambling to find a tree branch, and failing. The whole effect was rather undignified.

The source of the scream was a hare in a Yew Guard outfit. They had all seen him, but taken the sword through his stomach as a sign that he was dead. Apparently he wasn't.

"AAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHFATESHELPME!" The hare screamed. "TAKE IT OUT PLEASE! TAKE IT ALL OUT! I'M BURNING UP, PLEASSEEE!" He tried to grasp at the sword, but screamed as the motion caused a sharp, broken bone to tear through the flesh of his arm.

Everybeast stared at the hare. Even Nyika. All three of them walked over to the hare, Nyika trying to comfort the stricken beast, Poko gnawing at her fist as she stared at the wounded beast, unable to look away, and Zevka's eyes hardening.

"We're not going to hurt you! We'll try to take the sword out...I'm sure you'll be...you'll be..." Nyika couldn't even finish her sentence. Zevka put her paw on the wildcat's good shoulder.

"Nyika. We can't help him. None of us is a healer, and even if we were..." Zevka put her other paw on the knife in her belt. "All we can do is stop him from suffering. There's no point in drawing this out."

"No - don't!" Poko grabbed Zevka's fur in alarm, her voice pleading, "Isn't there somethin' else we can do?"

"There's nothing we can do but put him out of his misery," Zevka said. The marteness decided to try to put a positive spin on things. "And we don't have much food here. At least this way, if it really comes down to it, we'll have enough to keep ourselves alive for a bit," she said chipperly.

For some reason, this obvious benefit to the situation seemed to make both Nyika and Poko even more upset. Nyika looked sickened, and Poko covered her ears. The hare's eyes widened and he screamed even louder.

"Get away from me! I'm fine, doncha know! Fit as a flippin' fiddle and spry as -aaAIIIIIIHHHHH!" The hare's increasingly delirious attempts to demonstrate just what a peak specimen of health he was had clearly backfired.

"I read once that a party of shipwrecked corsairs survived for four weeks on just the beasts who died in the shipwreck! The rest were all totally fine!" Again, Zevka's cheerfulness proved not to be infectious. She bottlebrushed her tail in frustration.

"I wouldn't want to eat food that talks," Poko said with a frown.

"Graah! I'm just trying to be positive! Work with me, you two!" Zevka threw her paws up in defeat. "In any case, while we're talking, he's suffering. What am I supposed to do?"

Poko wrung her paws. "Can't you help him? Aren't pine martens good healers?"

Zevka sighed. "Poko, there are some injuries that nobeast can fix. His stomach is ripped apart. He can't eat, he's in horrible pain, his arm's pulverized. He's bleeding from eight places, and it's getting so that he can't even talk. This hare is not coming back. All we can do is try to make this happen with as little pain as possible."

Zevka drew her knife.

The hare's eyes widened, but he stopped screaming for a moment, and seemed to become more lucid.

"Wait! No! I...I really think I feel better now! Any bally minute now, I'll be up and about, and then you just watch out, you crazy wench! Don't do it! I'm fine! I'm f-AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAGGGHHHH!" The hare tried to raise his arms up to ward off Zevka, but had succeeded primarily in tearing his injury open wider.

Zevka just sighed and gestured at the screaming hare. "Nyika, Poko, I'm sorry, but this is just going to keep happening unless we do something about it! For all we know, we could be the only survivors...or if there are others, we don't know how far away they are, or if they can or will help us. Nobeast else is going to take care of this. We have to do it ourselves."

Poko gestured at the hare. "Why don't you _ask_ if he wants to be helped that way, Zevka! He doesn't seem to want your kind of help! Maybe he just wants to live for as long as he can, even if it means being in pain."

"Yes! Listen to the green hedgeferretotter-AAAAGGGGGHHHHHH" The hare's eyes were taking on an unfocused quality, but the screams were just as sharp.

Zevka gestured at the hare. "And this proves my point. He can't even get through a sentence without screaming in agony."

"But it's still his life! If he doesn't want you to end it, then why should you? He should be able to choose! Otherwise...you might as well put her out of her misery too..." The ferret nodded at Nyika.

"Marchpane? But I want don't want to go to bed, Mama!" the hare slurred to nobeast in particular.

"That is NOT helpful right now, Poko!" Zevka snapped. Nyika, however, looked none the worse for the comment. She probably had more important things to think about. Zevka immediately felt a little bit bad for being short with a kit who had just lost her mother.

_But she did kinda deserve it. Putting Nyika down! She shouldn't even be joking about that!_

"Why can't you just wait?"

"Because there's no reason to wait." Zevka said, walking towards the hare with her mind made up.

"But Mama, I don't want to go yet! It's too early!" the hare said with a whimper, before letting loose another scream. He managed to choke out another sentence. "Why can't I stay without it hurting?"

Zevka moved into position.

Poko threw her paws over her eyes and turned away, bending over as if to retch. Nyika crouched at the hare's side, grabbing his face and forcing their eyes to lock as Zevka moved in behind him.

"Look at me," the wildcat said. "Look at me. Everything will be fine. You're in good paws. We'll ease your pain, comfort you, help you." Tears shimmered in her eyes, but the hare's screams had quelled to a whimpering. Closing her eyes, the tears sliding down her cheeks, Nyika pressed her forehead against his and began to sing a lullaby.

She was still singing when Zevka said, "It's done."


	6. Misty Mountain Hop

**6. Misty Mountain Hop**

_By: Risk_

Risk remembered the last time he'd woken up in a tree. Not the night before, but definitely that morning. Twelve miles from camp, naked, and being poked at by tiny, angry, painted weasels. He liked those weasels. They were very aerodynamic.

Unlike himself, apparently.

He lay in the tangle of broken pine branches, counting all the spots on his body that ached. There were far more than usual. One spot in particular, just under his ribs, hurt the most. He found a piece of branch sticking out. He gave it a gentle tug, and decided to let it be for now. He couldn't see if it was too wide to patch up.

He very carefully rolled over, twisting his body in segments, to better grip the branch with all four paws. Pine nettles fell out of his ears. The broken branches under him shook free and crashed down after. He watched them drift with the snow, fading quickly into the black. It could have been a long way down.

He looked up, to where he thought the road might used to be. No lights. Just snow slinging into his eyes.

Clinging to the branch, he let himself slide around it until he was hanging upside-down, and with his footpaws hooked around it let himself swing towards the trunk. He twisted his upper body around at the last second and gripped the bark with his claws. From there he let his legs drop back beneath him, and was able to descend the tree almost as if it were a spiral staircase- ducking and tucking through the gaps between the branches.

He perched himself between the mountain and the base of tree to catch his breath and pad some snow on his wound. He snapped off a lower branch, stripped it of sprigs for use as a ski pole and began to slide down the snow on his back. With his knife in his other paw, he was able to keep his descent steady.

He came to a rest on a pair of rats, who were unappreciative of his dexterity, and also dead.

"Talk about a cold reception."

He reflexively ducked a little, and immediately felt ashamed for saying it. It was a terrible thing to say. Pyracantha would have hustled him off stage for it, or let the rain of rotten rhubarb do it for her. Then again, he was fairly certain he did not have a job anymore. He could make all the puns he liked.

A sense of liberation wafted down the mountain.

Suddenly he couldn't think of anything further to say. So instead he cussed- and the wind cussed back, bitter and sharp as any old sailor, spit-fleck snow scalding his cheeks.

Risk crouched, ears straining for any signs of life. There wasn't a fleck of light to be seen, nor crunch of snow to be heard. All he could smell was pine and rat. Two days from Yew, who knew how many more to Carrigul, and it seemed that he was the only survivor again. He'd have to keep that up.

He hustled the rats' clothes off their backs and tossed them aside. Too small to wear without... Damn, he'd miss Gashrock. Where in Hellgates was he going to find another tailor who just made things _fit_? Back to washing his own clothes, too...

Oh, and she was probably dead. That was also a shame. No, no use thinking about them all right now. Just had to hope it had been fast for the ones he'd liked.

Right now, he needed a tent. He spun his knife around his knuckles, pondering. More likely a sleeping bag. Something to keep him warm besides his moleskin cloak and shabby tunic. Pyracantha didn't like them traveling in the good stuff.

The knife sliced purposefully in the dark, from tail to throat. The rest came back to him gradually. Hold this back, don't pierce too deeply there, get those out of the way... Yet mistakes were made, and he growled in disapproval at his work. The second one would come out better.

So focused was he on his grisly task, it came as quite a shock when a short plume of flame leapt from the darkness not twenty feet away. Risk's neckfur bristled and he made as if to leap at the monstrous face that appeared within the hellish glow. Instead, his knife caught in the rat and he only succeeded in ripping his new bedroll.

"A survivor," the face croaked.

Risk glowered. It was just the toad. It had made a hole in the snow and only its face peered out at him.

"You were with the clowns," the toad continued.

Risk nodded.

"I heard you cuss. Mimes would be more amusing if they cussed."

"Ain't no mime."

"Your silence had me fooled."

Risk begrudgingly trudged toward the fire. The snow was deep in spots, and his footpaws punched holes that sunk him down to his haunches. Progress was slow. He retrieved the rats' clothes as well as the half-finished skin and continued his work in the light and warmth, scraping it clean.

"That's my rat you've skinned."

"Ah. You want 'im?"

The toad scoffed. "Not much use to me now, are they?"

Risk glanced over at the corpses far off at the edge of the firelight.

"I'd think mayhaps a little more, now."

"...Elaborate."

"Ah... But they're a little big for you, aren't they? Can't really... see how that would work."

The toad just stared over the fire. Risk sighed and fetched the fleshless one, dragging it over by its tail. It left a trail of darkness on the snow behind it. Risk dropped it beside the toad. He sat down and went back to work. The toad continued to stare at him. Risk grunted in mild annoyance.

"You need my knife?"

"You have completely lost me, ferret."

It took Risk a few moments to figure out the gap in communication.

"You didn't claim them for eatin'?"

"I'm not a savage. Didn't think your lot believed in that, anyway. I could do with the skins, though."

"You ain't met many clowns." Risk snorted out another batch of needles. Hellgates those things got in deep. Wonder he had both eyes still.

"Are _you_ going to eat them?"

"Nah. Yew's not far enough to stoop that low. I can make double time on my own. I'll eat snow. You headin' back, too?"

"No. Still going to Carrigul."

Risk finished with the skin and bundled it up, tossing it in an arc over the fire. The toad caught it and immediately spread it over his shoulders, fur side down. He hunkered lower in his hole, rumbling a little.

"You have a pine branch in your gut," said the toad, as if just noticing.

"Aye," said Risk. He looked down. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought it was. He tugged it out with nary a grunt and tossed it on the fire. It crackled and hissed, spitting like a kitten, and just as warm.

"That cart wheel's not gonna last all night," said Risk. "But pine burns good, see."

"Mm."

Risk leaned back and stretched his stomach to get a good look at the wound. He dug a claw into it and twiddled it around, searching for stray bits of bark or nettles. There was nothing. Good. He rolled up one of the rats' knit-cloth caps and used one of their belts to keep it against the hole. He sucked the blood off his claws.

"I don't suppose there is any way to convince you to help me finish the journey. Ferrets are good tunnelers. So are toads. We can easily dig out any others and carry on."

Risk hooked his claws around his footpaws, drawing his legs in close, and rocked on his lower back, thinking. His tongue stuck out a little.

"Alright. But if you start to die on me, just know I ain't got patience for all that quiverin' an' moanin'. I'm just gonna slit you."

The toad almost chuckled.

"You are an honest beast, ferret."

"Not really."

They kept quiet for a while after that. Risk prodded the fire once in a while to keep it strong against the snowfall piling up around them.

He got up again with the intention of bringing over the second rat to begin skinning, when a sudden wind nearly took the fire out, and the sound of wings thunder-clapped through their sullen silence. Risk dove into a snowbank headfirst, whispering "Hell's fang!" The toad flattened himself further, becoming no more than a bloodied, inside-out skin on the snow.

Something heavy crunched very near them.

"Aharrumph... your tail is sticking out."

A moment or two passed, then Risks's tail slithered into his hole. The snow above bulged and bubbled, then his whiskers popped out where his tail had been. He bared his teeth.

"Captain Noonahootin," the owl said, with nary a bob or ruffle of feathers, though his moon-shine gaze was soon captivated by the sight of the skinless rat. "How many survivors are with you... ferret?"

Risk pulled himself a little further out and hid his teeth. He didn't glance toward the toad.

"Can't say. They were dead when I found 'em."

"Be you with the merchants, or one of the Dewhurst?"

"Ah... Dewhurst."

"Very well. Above the treeline there, on the next ridge, is the rest of your troupe. I would caution you to snuff this fire before you draw survivors down here. There is no way off this plateau save for-"

A keening wail cut through the night air. Both Risk and the Captain's heads swiveled to look up at the mountain. Risk was glad his tail was out of sight now. He never looked very good trying to imitate a squirrel.

"- save for climbing up," the Captain finished. "Can you manage?"

"Aye."

"Do not tarry," said the Captain, as he took off to the skies. Again, the fire flickered from his wing beats.

The toad popped up from his hole. So did Risk, albeit slower and more wary of showing his hindquarters. That scream... Only once before had something like that so thoroughly chilled him to the bone. This mountain pass would have its job cut out for it if it wanted to be the third thing.

"Why did you not tell him I was here as well?"

Risk rubbed the back of his neck. "I _look_ like a mediator to you?"

The toad didn't reply.

"Shoulda popped out yourself," Risk grumbled.

He began creating a makeshift haversack out of the rats' cloaks and the remaining belt, which he used to stuff the rest of their clothes into. He tossed his knife into the snow near the toad.

"Cut a spoke off that wheel, see if it'll make a good torch. Didn't happen to find any other loot before settin' that wheel on fire, I suppose?"

"No."

"Where'd this come from, anyhow..." Risk scraped the melting snow around the fire away with his footpaw. This revealed that the wheel was still connected to what seemed to be a more or less intact cart. Risk shuddered. Could too easily have been him under that snow, beneath the cart, and all those rocks...

"It isn't feasible to carry much," said the toad. "I say we leave it."

"For now, aye. If we can climb up to the others, we at least know this is here. Gettin' down again shouldn't be too hard. Ah... but there could be somebeast inside. Give me the knife."

Risk kicked snow over the fire and tore the remains of wheel off the axle. He knelt and began working the knife into the sideboards, managing to pry a few nails free from the charred wood. He got a piece of wood loose, dug his claws in, and snapped it off. He stuck his paw into the hole.

"Can't feel nothin'." He put his muzzle against the hole. "HULLO? Ah... Well, if there's anybeast, least now they can breathe."

He looked up. The toad was gone. Risk grabbed his new haversack and bounded after him. Cheeky devil! There was barely anything to track, only a faint glow moving through the trees. For a fat glob of an amphibian, the toad sure managed to cover a lot of ground between prints.

Climbing the mountain side was not as easy as Risk had been expecting. The snow was loose and the pines grew sparingly. With his haversack looped around his sheathed knife and slapping against his flank, he dug in with his pine staff, grabbed onto branches where he could, and zig-zagged to keep from sliding backwards.

He caught up with the toad a little over halfway up, resting against a snapped tree. The gelatinous beast looked winded. But to Risk, all toads looked winded, and like their diet consisted solely of rotten oranges, and like their mothers had kicked them in the face every day of their... tadpolehood? Toads were strange, very odd indeed. That was all there was to it. It was against the natural order of things, growing legs after the fact. And being born out of an egg. That was what fish and birds did. Just strange. That owl, too- definitely strange. Probably also ate rotten oranges. Strange and odd.

More screaming drifted down the mountain. Not as chilling as the first, but more urgent. There was blood in these screams.

Neither of them spoke to the other. The toad leapt onward shortly after Risk arrived. Risk saw that the ground was beginning to level out and took a breather of his own, leaning against the pine tree. He kept his eye on the toad until it vanished, either from the torch going out or from going over the ledge. He took a gulp of freezing air, sneezed a flurry of crystals out of his nose (that was new), and did his best to catch up.

The toad was just staring. Risk topped the ledge, leaned heavily on his staff, and stared as well. This was different from the battlefields he'd known before.

"It's worse when there's been a real fight," he said quietly. "Just imagine them all like your rats, except not that many all in one piece, and despite bein' dead three days, they're still warm, and stinkin' in the sun..."

He trailed off as his eyes wandered to a nearby boulder.

"Aw, shame, Raul... Hell's fang. Poko."

"Poko?" said the toad. "Is that what counts as a cuss these days?"

Risk dropped his haversack and staff and circled the boulder.

"She's Des... Desdemona! No..."

He dropped to all fours, scrabbling through the snow to wrap his arms around Desdemona's shoulders, scraping away the pine branches surrounding her, covering the scuffed snow that he'd already failed to notice. The jill was stiff. He just held her head against his chest and slumped against the boulder.

The toad sidled up to watch, but kept his distance. Risk gradually relaxed his grip on the dead ferret jill. He got up and circled around it again, this time taking note of the slope of the land. He kicked a furrow through the snow behind the boulder, went around to what he now considered the front, and began to push. It wasn't round. It barely budged at first. He dug in deeper, straining, grunting, roaring- blood seeped out of the wound in his gut, his paws went white-

And then the boulder moved, tipping on its edge. It was all Risk could do to hold it there.

"Look!" he howled. "Toad! Get over here an' look!"

"For what?"

"P-Poko!"

"_What_ is a Poko?"

"Ferret!"

"I don't-"

"_Shut your gobsmacked bruise of a face an' bloody look for her!_"

The toad was beside him in an instant, flat on the snow, peering under the boulder.

"There's nothing!"

"Are you certain?"

"There's _dirt_. No ferret."

Risk let go of the boulder. A tiny avalanche cascaded off a nearby pine. He rested his forehead against the stone.

"Help me," he wheezed. "Help me dig... toad... you _will_ help me dig."

"And if I don't?"

"There's no 'don't'. You help."

The toad looked about to say something, but thought better of it. Risk fell over onto his side and crawled away to start pawing at a likely deep patch of snow.

"Not to dirt... just deep enough for now... Keep scavengers off 'em... I'll come back later... No- over here, just one... bury them together..."

It was simple work, and over in a trice. Risk pulled Raul in first and put a light veil of snow over the ferret's bulging eyes. Rather than pulling Desdemona, he picked her up and carried her into the hole, laid her gently down atop her husband. He kissed her brow, laid her paws over her stomach, and murmured a few words of parting.

He climbed out of the hole and they filled it in together. Risk marked the spot with his pine staff.

"C'mon... need to find Poko."

"Poko," said the toad again. "Curious name. Do you even have a name, ferret?"

Risk retrieved his makeshift bandage and began re-applying it to his stomach.

"Ah... Dewhurst's Players called me Cookie. You? Suppose I oughtn't keep callin' you 'toad'."

"Greenfleck."

"Greenfleck, I think this might be the beginnin' of a, ah... some kind of friendship?"

"Vulpuz, I hope not."

"I think I'm gettin' my sense of smell back..." Risk grinned at Greenfleck. "Gonna need to snuff a few more nettles soon. Ah... pawprints!"


	7. Deal With It and Keep Walking

**7. Deal With It and Keep Walking**

_By: Vanessa_

_ Am Ah dead?_ The thought floated gently in Vanessa Fern's clouded mind. It was dark all around her after all. _But where's Da? Ah always thought... he'd be here... wherever here is._ The ottermaid's eyes suddenly snapped open. Death didn't feel this cold. Nor did it consist of sharp rocks digging into one's back. Hastily, Nessa scrambled upright, pawing the wet snow impatiently off her uniform and glancing around her in an attempt to make sense of her situation. _How in the name o' crags did Ah end up oot here? An' where's everybeast gone?_ Sucking in a mighty breath of freezing air, the lone otter bellowed out to the frowning cliffs and surrounding snowy hillocks.

"Aaaahooooooy! Flaaaaaaaax! Keeeeent! Aaanyybeeaaaast!"

The sound floundered in the damp, snowy air. Nessa shivered-there was nobeast around. She was alone.

Driven to movement by the cold, the young Yew Guard set out into the night, her paws slipping and scraping on the icy rubble. It did not make for a pleasant trek, more so because she had acquired a massive headache- not because of the bottle of old mead she'd secretly shared with that pine marten Zevka the night before, oh no indeed. In fact, she had a large bruise the size of a crow's egg on her head._ Useless helmets, they ne'er protect anythin' when it comes doon tae et.  
_  
Memory of the landslide was slowly filtering back, enough for the ottermaid to realize that she was very lucky indeed to be alive, but the thought didn't make her feel much better as her eyes roved the abandoned slopes. More penetrating even than the freezing darkness around her, it was the eerie silence that was slowly seeping into the normally buoyant and cheerful otter's heart, chilling the living warmth within her. And however much she tried to repress it, the thought that she might be the only creature alive in this pitiless mountain wormed itself in, suffocating what little confidence she had left.  
So when Nessa saw the dark figure through the gloom, hunkered against a rock as though to protect himself from the cold, she bounded forward with a cry of joy. It didn't matter whether the beast was woodlander or vermin, all she wanted right now was to hear someone's voice. Skidding to a halt in front of the cloaked stoat, she paused, her heart freezing within her. Frosty blood caked the rock at its feet and a layer of ice was already gathering over the glazed eyes. Dead. With a sob of horror, Nessie sprinted off as fast as her paws would carry her, stumbling and scrabbling as she went, not even heeding where she was going. They were all dead and she was alone.  
It wasn't more than a few minutes before she tripped and fell sprawling on a pile of loose rubble. Her breath came in short gasps as she lay there motionless, her mind blank and unresponsive. Then the screams began. Faintly, they winded their way through the snowy air to her trembling ears, echoing with terror and pain. Gulping down a whimper, Nessa raised her muzzle to try and discern the source of the wails but as she did her whiskers brushed against something scratchy that stuck out of the rubble. Upon grabbing at the lump, the ottermaid almost yelped in shock. The thing was a paw. And even through the night chill, Nessa could feel the warmth of it in her own. She couldn't see much in the dark but the shape and size of it suggested it belonged to a rather large mouse and her thoughts immediately went to Kent. The young, brawny, but also surprisingly mischievous mouse was one of the only Guards she had ever befriended, to the great dismay of his very respectable parents.  
For a second, Nessa stared at the enormous pile of rubble in disbelief. Her mind, completely unaccustomed to the harsh reality it suddenly found itself in, struggled to come to grips with idea of her friend completely buried by rock and earth (along with seasons knew how many other of her traveling companions). Of their own volition, her paws started to move, gouging at the pile of debris, removing chunks of rock and clay, and clearing away the muddy dirt. The scratches on her pads were burning as they scraped against rough rock but Nessie gritted her teeth and kept digging. If Kent was alive under there, she'd get him out, if only for the comfort of another living beast to talk to.

Five minutes later, the ottermaid glumly surveyed a small depression in the mound- this was going nowhere. At this rate, Kent would be dead before she got even his arm free. As if on cue, the paw twitched under her nose. A frustrated growl erupted from Nessa's muzzle and something seemed to snap inside her. Throwing herself at the pile like somebeast possessed with Bloodwrath, she tore furiously at the confining rocks, the pain from her injuries only serving to further fuel her assault. Rubble and wooden wreckage flew in the air as the berserk otter went at it with all four paws, muscle standing out like cords on her slender limbs. A maid she might be, but Nessie was strong.

"Have at ye, ye sorry excuses fer a bairn's pebbles. Yer noo stoppin' me... Aaaah!

Without warning the entire top of the pile shifted and slid off to the side in a rattle of small boulders, revealing the two planks of wood that had been protecting most of the unconscious creature below from the crushing weight. Well, that felt decidedly better, decided Nessa, as she stood up, dusting her paws and cracking a small grin. She was warm too now. Moving the planks off the still figure, she peered at it in the gloom and froze, staring.

It wasn't Kent. In fact, it wasn't even a mouse. There amidst the wreckage, lay a large, unconscious female rat dressed in gaudy clothes.

In the end, Nessa did the only thing she could think of doing- hoisted the rat up on her shoulders and staggered off into the night, all the while trying to ignore the small voice in her head that urged her to consider the stupidity of her act.

_Ye doon't even know where yer goin' yerself, Nessie. What's the use o' carryin' a dead weight aroond till ye drop?_

Be quiet, ye dinnae just leave a beast tae die. That's no what Da would have done.

Weel, mebbe there's a reason why he's dead.

Shut up! 'Sides after all the braw trouble Ah took tae dig her oot, t'would be a shame tae leave her tae freeze. 

Far above the roiling black clouds and whirling snow, myriad stars shone like chips of ice, oblivious to the small figure trudging half-bent on the ground far below. Gamely, Nessa struggled on- now, the otter was focusing only on placing one paw in front of the other, her mind numb to all else, including the whoosh of air and snow particles as Captain Noonahootin of the Guard landed a few feet away with a loud hoot.

"Guardsbeast Vanessa!"

Half-closed eyes blinked dazedly at the owl as the ottermaid muttered automatically.

"Me name's Nessa, ye foozlebrai... Captain?"

Her head snapped up as she fully registered Noonahootin's presence.

"Captain Noona! Y... yer alive! Where are the others? They're no all dead? Wot happened? How'd ye find me?"  
Words tumbled out of her mouth like a babbling brook before Nessa checked herself, surprised to find tears of relief gathering behind her eyelashes. The captain blinked huge eyes once, glancing at the unconscious rat then fixing Vanessa with a penetrating stare, as if assessing her mental stability.

"Good to find you alive, Miss Vanessa. It appears we have been victim of a landslide- there are three vermin survivors just beyond that outcrop."

A vast wing swept out to point out the snow-capped chunk of rock barely visible in the night and Noonahootin turned back to Nessa, his large features softening.

"It's not far, lass, just keep walking and you'll make it. Remember, you're a Yew Guard! Get everyone together somewhere safe from any further slides and await my return. I will search for other survivors and a way out of here."

Nessa swallowed and tried a half-frozen grin, giving a salute with her free paw. Somehow, she felt proud of the simple gesture, whereas before it had always been a grudging recognition of unwanted authority or a mocking gesture to her superiors. Captain Noonahootin spread his wings wide, giving her an unexpected wink as he took off in a whirlwind of snowflakes.

"Ye'd better look after that rat; she'll want to know who saved her!"

The owl's pale grey shape melted into the darkness of the night sky as Nessa hoisted the rat further up on her burning ottermaid took off at a brisk trot towards the outcrop, the knowledge that she was not alone lending new strength to her limbs.

The rock formation was closer than it looked but still Nessa could feel every muscle in her body crying out for rest as she staggered wearily up the slope. Just as she reached the top of the snow heap rising on the side of the rocks, the ottermaid's legs gave out and she buckled forward. The rat went flying over her head and hit the snow with a thump but Nessa wasn't paying any attention to her. Her fall had carried her right over the ridge of snow unto a very steep downward slope and before she realized what was going on, she was rolling uncontrollably downhill in a cloud of snow particles. The world spun crazily, night sky melting with glimmering snow in a blur of grey. Vaguely, Nessa heard a startled cry- she had not time to reflect on it however, before she felt her body smash into something alive and furry. The world stopped spinning. Slowly, Nessa's eyes regained focus and took notice of the fact that she was lying on her back staring into a pair of slightly irritated and very familiar eyes.

"Zevka!"

The pine marten offered a paw to help her upright.

"Up you come!"

Nessa swayed a bit on her footpaws, still dizzy from her slide, as Zevka looked her up and down.

"You look pretty good for a beast who just got caught in an avalanche. I guess it takes more than that to stop you! Thought you might not have made it - glad I was wrong!"

The ottermaid grinned, feeling almost giddy at finally having someone to talk to.

"Aye, Ah wasnae aboot tae let mahself git buried an' leave ye all the mead! It's good tae see ye, Zevka. Oh an'... sorry fer smashin' intae ye like that."

Zevka sniffed.

"Hmph, so you should be."

But there was a smile in her eyes and Nessa knew that the marten was feeling the same way she did about seeing another friendly face in the midst of the grim setting.

"Sae, any o' the others with ye?"

Her question was light, but there was an underlying darkness in her tone that acknowledged the reality of what had just happened. Zevka sighed.  
"Two. Nyika was with me- the wildcat, you remember her? And there's a young ferret called Poko, one of the 're back there at the cart" She pointed a paw behind her at two figures hunched near the wreck.

"I was trying to find something edible around."

At the mention of food, Nessa's stomach gave a conspicuous gurgle.

"Er... an' did ye find anythin'?"

"No."

The marten's eyes took on mischievous gleam.

"But, I do have a few of those honey roasted crickets that that little brown rat sells by the gates...but not many. My pack didn't fare so well."

Digging a paw in the knapsack slung over her shoulder, the marten tossed Nessa three of the insects.

"Here, catch. It's not much, but having _something_ in your stomach will help...and these are a lot better than beasts think they are!

The crickets were gone before Nessa even realized the oddness of eating insects. She'd never tasted them (it being branded as "vermin food") but it was too late to appreciate the crackly roasted, honeyed segments now.

"Thanks, Zevka."

It was heartfelt for, not counting the gulf between their respective species stereotype, they'd only known each other for less than a moon and yet Zevka was sharing her meager supplies without a second thought. By common consent, they both set off for the cart, Nessa licking the last sweet bits from her muzzle and Zevka speaking quietly.

"Poko lost both her parents in the slide... There was nothing we could do- they were both dead before we got here. She's taking it about as well as anybeast can take something like that, but she'll need watching."

The young ferret was perched on the wreck in stony silence and Nessa's heart wrenched painfully at the sight. She didn't need Zevka to tell her what the young one had just experienced. It was just... so exactly how she'd been after she'd seen her father's body brought in following the mountain ambush. Before she was even aware of it, she'd taken three steps towards Poko, instinctively reaching out to comfort her.

"Nessa? Is that you?"

She halted, offering Poko a friendly smile instead, and turning to the young wildcat who was squinting at her like she wasn't convinced Nessa was really there.

"Who else, Nyika? Ye alright, lassie?"

"Aye," the wildcat said, still looking unconvinced. "Are you?"

Nessa scratched her rudder impatiently. On the few occasions she'd met her on her secret visits to Zevka's wagon, she'd always thought Nyika was sort of... odd.

"'Course Ah'm fine! What-"

"Oi, Nessa, there's a rat back here!"

_Scatterbrain._ She'd completely forgotten about the rat after lugging it all this way. Zevka was off a ways to the side, crouched over the rat who seemed to have rolled down the slope at a different angle. With a quick nod at Nyika, Nessa trotted off and joined her.

"Oh, that 'un- Ah've been carryin' her half the night. Ah dunno who she is- thought she was one o' the Guards Ah knew an' dug her out o' a braw load o' rubble. Hasnae moved a whisker since. D'ye think she'll live?"

"That's Gashrock."

Poko had followed up behind them, peering at the rat from beneath her hedgehog costume, while Zevka checked the rat's pulse and chest.

"Aye, she looks fine. She must have knocked her head pretty hard- should be around any minute, I think."

Settling back on her haunches, the otter gazed at the face of the vermin she'd saved. So much had changed in a single night- for the first time, she was away from the protection of the Guard, dumped in a world where survival depended only on her wits. Somehow it didn't feel frightening. It felt exhilarating.

The rat's eyelid's fluttered open.


	8. Golden Fools

**8. Golden Fools**

_By: Gashrock_

"What in waves and blazes..."

Gashrock blinked and blinked again, staring down at her right leg. There was a deep gash on the limb, blood at its edges having already caked over.

"Glad tae see yer awake, rat. Ah didnae fancy havin' die on me after Ah dug ye out of that landslide." An otter wearing the livery of the Guard was looking down at her.

"Thanks?" Gashrock tried to stand, shifting her weight to it, but as she steadied herself felt a twinge of pain in her right arm. Holding it out at a distance, she turned it over slowly, shivering as she looked for any injuries. It seemed to be unscathed, and yet, after a few tentative steps, it flared up again.

Well, it had always been her weak arm. Things could have been worse, she reasoned. She'd just have to make like a proper actor and improvise. That was what they always said. She hoped it had something to do with improv-ement, however, because as she staggered forward, she still felt dizzy.

Maybe the scar would be so ugly, Dewhurst wouldn't make her dance again. Gashrock had never liked dancing.

"Mah name's Vanessa Fern-call me Nessa, though. How far kin ye walk?" the otter asked. Well, she _had_ saved Gashrock's life. That was their job, she supposed. Protection from all sorts of threats.

Except, Dewhurst had never warned her that the entire ruddy _mountain _might give way. If Gashrock had wanted her entire world to jostle up and down on occasion until beasts felt sick to their stomachs, she'd have gone to sea and become a proper sailor.

"This many steps, and further iffen I'm chucked down a ruddy ol' mountainside, innit," said Gashrock.

Fern took a step back and sniffed. "Oh aye... jus' tryin' tae help."

_Perhaps in spite of yourself, Miss Fern_, Gashrock thought. Trying to ignore another twinge in her arm, she sputtered out the first thing that came to mind. "So, who d'yer think dunnit?"

"Done what?"

"Ex-ploded the whole ruddy road. Or," she went on wildly, "do roads in this part of the world normally rear up and blast the lot of folk to—to pieces?" Pieces, at best. The scar was ugly, and if the dried blood falling to the ground was any indication, liable to rip open again. But at least she was alive. Where were Whitepaw and Cookie and the troupe? Dewhurst...Dewhurst's talents for organizing and providing plays and paying beasts, Gashrock might mourn. On the other hand, the vixen could be so distractable sometimes, it really would be just like her to sleep through her own death.

"Oh. Er... Ah dunno. Thought things like that happened in these mountains. Ah've ne'er been far outside Yew afore. Ye've been tae Carrigul afore, though, haven't ye?"

"I had. We all had, and nothin' went wrong. So, what in blazes is happenin'?"

"Weel, Ah reckon et could be this blimey weather we're havin'. Ye wanna rest?"

"I think," said Gashrock, rubbing her head with her stronger paw, "I've had more rest than I know what to do with for the day. Where's the troupe?"

The otter looked uncomfortable, "Weel...Poko here says she knows ye."

Gashrock turned and forced a smile at little Poko. The poor thing was almost clumsy enough to have caused more trouble than she could get out of, but Gashrock doubted even she could have incited a crash without meaning to. The pine marten flanking her, however, was certainly not her family, nor even part of the troupe. One of the merchants, presumably?

"And the rest?" The merchant wouldn't have known who to inform Gashrock about, and Poko looked too numb to pass along any sort of news.

"Ah'm nae sure—" Fern began.

"Then do yer not think it'd be a fan-tastical idea to _get sure_—"

"We've all been lookin' after ye. Care fer the livin' first, 'tis one o' the first rule Ah was taught. "

Gashrock looked down, past her travelling cloak—a thick brown, with deep pockets for whatever supplies she might want to bring along—to the floor. "What were I gonna do?" With her left paw, she felt at her pockets. Needle tucked inside a large spool of thread—she'd been doing green hems, before—dagger in a scabbard, another empty scabbard. All, impressively, still there. "Well," she went on, "what about our kits and owt?"

"Yer _kits_?"

"My _sewing _kits, you outrageous otter, we'll be wanting to put together what we can."

"If ye can walk, ye can help out."

"I can," she said, as if trying to throw her voice across the stage. It was that or throwing up the remains of breakfast, having inadvertently caught another glance at her leg, and given the potential dearth of supplies Gashrock was more partial to the first view. "I mean, iffen it's mountains we're at, I weren't no squirrel even afore all this biz-ness. But I'll try." The others were hardly going to leave her. She hoped.

"Let's get back to the cart," said the pine marten. Blackbriar, that was it. "We'll be wanting to sort through the supplies."

Gashrock glanced at her. "Yer've got a sack?"

"There's not much in it. Not enough food to go around, and no flint..."

No flint. They'd need to cook, and maybe have to do it without Cookie. The thought made her shake. Or maybe it was the pain in her arm, or the chill of the mountains, she didn't care.

He'd shown her some things, hadn't he? Back when they'd had a few cups of grog each, and were trying to have a midnight snack? Admittedly, there was no grog in sight, but the pain couldn't be a much greater distraction. Albeit an unwelcome one.

"I'll see what I can do," Gashrock ventured. Improvisation, wasn't it? "If there's wood..."

"It's right here," Blackbriar repeated. "C'mon."

There was no room for pride, slowly pacing alongside a numb ferret with a limp, barely more than a kit. The oversized hedgehog's outfit had been her own idea. Well, maybe Poko could fold it over and give herself an extra half-layer in the cold.

They reached a pile of splintered wood, and Gashrock found with a scowl downwards that it really had been a moment's worth of distance, not a trek at all. "Start stackin'," she demanded, without looking to see whether anyone was following directions. She picked through a pile of chips, trying not to get a splinter in her hand, though on balance it scarcely would have hurt any worse.

"Do yer need a hatchet?" Blackbriar offered.

"For what?"

"Chippin' away at the wood. It'll go faster."

"It's under a ruddy boulder, I ain't in no rush. This is all rubbish, anyway?"

"Er..."

"Where's my..." she caught a glance at Fern and decided to make things clear, "_sewing_ mat-eeryuls?"

"This was _a_ cart," said Nyika, the wildcat taking a few steps to join them. "Maybe not _your_ cart, though."

Gashrock glanced down the mountain, squinting at the tiny trees below, the rocks, the snow...the players' cart could have landed anywhere. Trying not to think of her friends, she found herself saying quietly, "Okay. Gimme a hatchet."

It would feel good to smash things.

Blackbriar warily complied, and Gashrock took a few swings at the cart. This was triply satisfying; the wood was eminently smashable, in her peripheral vision, it was just as eminently stackable by the others, and it provided a sizable hole through which she could reach a thin paw and retrieve a slim chunk of golden metal. Scarcely worth a good meal, nor even bendable into a suitable prop. All the same, if she remembered enough of Cookie's antics, it might be worth its weight in a proper precious metal.

"Right, then. I'd had plenty o' grog the last time I tried this. Don't get yer hopes up," she said, tossing it onto the pile of wood before turning around. Carefully removing her dagger, she began battering the blade against the rock, trying to alternate sides so that it didn't get bent out of shape. She would hate to ruin her best dagger. It was also, at the moment, her only dagger.

But the others didn't need to know that.

"Oh-you're tryin' ta make sparks?" Poko asked.

"Are you mad?" Gashrock blurted, banging down the dagger.

"Er-I just thought-" Poko lifted a small velvet case from an inner pocket and opened it, revealing a little carved pipe, complete with a tiny quartz and pyrite striking set.

Gashrock waited a moment to see if Poko was going to do anything useful with it, but when the ferret made no motion, reached out and seized the strikers herself. Oddly, the rhythmic motion of tapping them against each other seemed to dull the pain slightly. But not until the fire had started was Gashrock able to calm the thoughts of _the wrong ferret got lucky_.

After tilting the wood pieces until they caught flame, Gashrock sat back, resheathing the dagger and pocketing her trinket after a brief consideration. For a moment, there was no sound, just the memory of the metallic strikes fading away in the midnight darkness.

Then Poko spoke up. Well, that was stretching the truth a bit. She made an "Er?" and Gashrock turned.

_How are you old enough to smoke without choking on your pipe?_ "Here you are, then," she said, handing it over with no sign of gratitude.

Gashrock tried to rest, as the columns of smoke slowly wove apart in every direction. Through her fatigue, she caught whispers of other conversations. "...how far can you walk on that?"

"Well I made it up here, didn't I?"

It was an earnest, if plaintive cry, and Gashrock risked again another glance at her own leg. Maybe it had started to heal already. More likely it was a trick of the dim, intermittent light.

Behind her, voices. "...ask her if she'll sew it."

"Aye. Gashrock! Will you try sewin' it?"

Gashrock turned around, exhausted. "Aye." Trust them to have finally remembered what she was good for. Sort through wood chips? Oh, here's a hatchet, marm. Try and light a fire? Look what I've found! "Although I ain't sure what lookin' nice is good for, at a time like this."

"Well," Poko went on, "it'll be easier to walk."

That, Gashrock supposed, was probably true—if a hemline or something was draping on the ground, things were that much more difficult.

"An' maybe it'll hurt less."

Kits. Even after what they'd just been through, thinking a torn gown was the worst of their injuries. "Yar, yar. Shut yer clap and gimme the thing, and if yer worried about your mah-desty at a time like this I'll clock you one."

"Er..." Blackbriar looked on. "You might want to, to borrow some of my alcohol." _Don't I ever._ "Poko? It'll make it hurt less."

"Wait a tick," said Gashrock. "_Borrow_ yer alcohol? How d'you reckon you'll pull that off? Because I'd just as soon be unk-onshiss again when you, eh, repay your debt."

"Oh quit whining and see to her toe."

"...her toe?"

Very gingerly, Poko stepped forward.

Gashrock squinted, then opened her eyes. She didn't particularly care to see the way the ferret's toe hung on, drooping at an angle below the rest of her foot. "Waves and blazes! And you expect me to sew this back on?"

"It shouldn't be too different—" Blackbriar sputtered.

"Yer all mad beasts. If you have any grog on you at all, aye, give it to thissun. Pref-rably so she goes back to sleep." Once again Gashrock tried to think about how young she must have been. "And even with that, I'm not in the bizness of makin' no promises."

"Er. I'd say we should start with less. Particularly because I have something a little more, ah, savory than simple grog in store." said Blackbriar.

"Well it's an honor, innit, being surrounded by experts with such in-tell-ect. And drink." She rooted around in her pocket. Curse the beast, but she'd given her foolish word and she'd see it through, the best she could. Without looking at Poko, she said, "I hope you like green."

Poko whimpered, but made no distinct reply as Blackbriar fetched her some drink, as Fern and Nyika huddled by, as Gashrock reached for her. The ruins of another cart wheel served to prop her leg up, as Gashrock carefully folded the toe, supporting it with her right paw and holding the needle in her left.

Costumes were intended to _move_, she thought, as she slowly made her way across, stitch by terrifying stitch. "Owwww!" came Poko's moan, as Blackbriar held her out of the way, offering her a drink to have something else to bite down on. You could fold them up and stack them in a cart and trek across the mountains, well, you _could_, in principle. "Yowch...stoppit..." Better, you could doff them and don them in a matter of a moments, you could whip something out of a pocket or plunge it back in. "Hellgates, Gash..." You could dance across the stage with it trailing in your wake, if you were a git who liked to dance, or you could fling it to an admirer in the audience. "Whaddreyouat?"

"Don't squirm," said Gashrock, "only makes it harder for me and worse for you." Everything she made, she made to fold, to bend, to wave. Except, Poko's sweat warm beneath her, she'd been called upon to sew something that would stay _still_.

"That's once around," she whispered, voice dry.

"Well that's good," said Blackbriar, "I doubt we can take much more of this."

"Is that all? Cause I can go back once around, for good measure, but like heck am I doin' the same thing from the inside out."

"Leave it be for now. How much thread do y'have?"

"More than—I thought I knew what to do with."

"That'll do."

Gashrock gave a haggard nod as she turned around. Behind her, the flames were rising higher into the sky. Maybe they'd be enough to stop her from shivering. Maybe not.


	9. Respect Is Earned, Not Given

**9. Respect Is Earned, Not Given**

_By: Goragula_

The hare guard's uniform was covered in blood, but it would serve its purpose.

They found him a few minute's walk from where they'd buried Poko's parents. Cookie had picked up the younger ferret's pawprints in the snow and insisted they go after her. Goragula trailed reluctantly behind in the resignation that he must accept the ferret's demands, or face the wilderness alone. Both creatures came to a sudden halt as they stumbled across the stricken hare that lay in a broken tangle among the rocks. In the bitter air, the contortions of terror had been frozen into a gruesome twist across his face, and his paw was outstretched in a final effort to push away his unseen foe. Goragula flicked his gaze from the sword stuck fast in the hare's belly to the gaping wound that oozed clots of blood at his throat.

So_ this _was where the screaming had come from. The toad's mouth twitched into a smirk. It hadn't been a full day since the landslide, and already they were slitting one another's throats. Like a sapling that flourished in loose mud, the proclaimed morality of hotbloods was uprooted at the first storm.

None the less, Goragula knew that Yew invested well into its Guards' equipment. The hare's cloak and jacket would be made from a decent quality wool, and that was enough to merit the effort of stripping him. When a hotblood declares he's freezing, it's always a little trite – when a toad says the same, matters are urgent. There was nothing he wouldn't try. Beside him, Cookie watched in confusion as the toad peeled away the rat's pelt and replaced it with the guard's clothing.

"Ah, that ain't gonna be much warmer, you know. What, did your rats have fleas?"

"We don't get your fleas," Goragula said curtly. "No. You'd be surprised at how much Yew spends on its uniform – it's a lot warmer than rat fur. Not to mention the fact that if we bump into anybeast else, and they see me wearing an inside-out hide, they're going to think I'm a bloody psychopath."

"You're not?" Cookie said. He shrugged and took the fur for himself.

Goragula did not dignify him with an answer. The ferret certainly had a fair few witticisms up his sleeve – it was a pity they were about as original as a drunken mole's excuses for missing payday. The toad would have cast him an acerbic glance, had his brawny physique, array of knives and bloodied garb not given him the look of a demonic warrior prince. It would be better not to step on his paws. Cookie had no need to worry about looking barbaric, but for Goragula, there was far more at stake. It would be suicide to reveal his true identity. To whatever remaining survivors there may be, that made him nothing more than a toad – a wretched, primitive creature with no more worth than a louse. If he was going to get a scrap of respect, 'Greenfleck' had to maintain all the appearance of civility and decorum.

As they trailed the scattered pawprints in silence, Goragula's thoughts turned to the two dead ferrets. Cookie had kissed the mother, but it was not the lascivious drunken mess that the toad had seen tavern hobs doling out to the hussies they caught on their knees. It had been so delicate that his lips had barely brushed against her fur. He'd never seen anything like that. "I don't understand why you bothered burying _him_," he finally said.

"Just … my way of payin' him back, I suppose."

"But he was her husband. Your enemy."

"Nah." Cookie shook his head. "He was a decent enough beast. 'Sides, if you start thinkin' of beasts in his position as your enemy, you're never gonna sleep easy."

A decent enough beast? That was laughable. Cookie did not know that Goragula's ratguards had not been 'decent enough beasts.' Whether they were or not was irrelevant. He didn't know them, so the thought had not even crossed his mind that they may deserve something better than having their bodies stripped and dumped in the rubble. Another fine example of the hypocrisy of hotbloods. While Goragula was well aware that many disapproved of his methods, at least he could say he treated friend and foe alike.

"I'll never understand how you work. You've all got so many double-standards."

"Well, we don't all have the same sense of 'standards'."

"Obviously."

The snowfall was beginning to thicken now, swarming in the sky like an explosion of gnats on a wet summer's eve. Goragula realised he was losing warmth faster than the torch he carried could provide it. How far could that damn ferretmaid have gone? The toad pulled the hood of the Yew Guard's cloak further over his head and began to scan the ragged mountain range for signs of life, but it was fruitless. Everything was lost to the grey haze of the blizzard.

Some way ahead of them there was a brief flicker of movement among a cluster of tall rocks. Then, the sudden sparkle of a fire. The new light illuminated the bodies of at least three creatures, but it was snowing too heavily to make out what manner of beasts they were.

"Over there!" Cookie said, starting towards them.

"She's not _your_ daughter, is she?" Goragula said, following hastily.

"Hell's fang, no. That was her father back there."

"Then why do you want to find her so badly?"

Cookie looked at him in disbelief. "I thought it was obvious. We take care of each other. Never needed Pyracantha to teach me that."

"You're different to the ferrets I've met."

"Then you've been mixin' with the wrong types," the ferret replied with a grim finality. "Hurry up."

They were all jills, huddled together under their capes and pressed close to the rocks in a hapless attempt to shelter from the wind. There was a pine marten, an otter dressed in Yew Guard's uniform, an injured rat, a young wildcat – and a ferretmaid who could only have been Poko. Goragula sat as close to the fire as he could bear, and gave them a critical once-over. Apart from the marten, they looked like a bunch of scraggy molls.

"Gashrock!" Cookie said, noticing the rat. "I thought you were dead."

She gave a weak laugh. "C'mon, Cookie. Y'know I'm tougher than that."

But Goragula's eyes were on the ferretmaid. She was dressed as a hedgehog, of all things. Beneath the soft cotton hood, the young ferret's vacant eyes stared past the fire into empty space. There were no tears. Goragula had seen that look before – it was the soul's last attempt to stave off an impending surge of grief. When it did hit her, it would hit hard. But it was strange to see it this way, when he'd taken no part in bringing it about, and could observe it objectively. She'd have to get over it quickly. Nobeast would want to drag a bawling brat all the way to Carrigul.

Cookie swallowed uneasily as he thought of something to say. "We gave 'em a decent burial, Poko."

"Leave it. She's had enough." It was the pine marten, holding her paw up to silence him. "I'm Zevka Blackbriar, and this is Nyika." She cocked her head to the scrawny wildcat.

"Cookie. An' this ugly lump's Greenphlegm."

"Green_fleck_."

"Cookie, eh? Cooked any rats lately?" the otter said, casting a rather sarcastic glance at the grisly pelt daubed over the ferret's shoulders. "Name's Nessa, bah the way," she added, offering her paw. For Goragula, she managed a curt nod. _Ungracious wench_.

"Does anybeast know what happened to Pyracantha?" Cookie said.

"Ain't seen 'er. No sign o' Whitepaw or owt either." Gashrock looked down and licked her dry lips. She took a deep breath and made a sound that might have been an attempt to laugh it off. "Think we're all that's left o' the Dewhurst players, mate."

There was an uneasy silence. Goragula could not partake in whatever they were feeling, but he could read their eyes. Every one of them, Cookie included, had a look of numb weariness tinged with an unspoken grief. It was the otter who spoke next.

"Ah Saw Captain Noonahootin earlier, said 'e was goin' tae look fer more survivors an' a way back. Ah say we stick together 'till he shows up."

Goragula took an instant dislike to the Yew Guard. He'd already caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, and her fascination was clearly fuelled by revulsion. The marten called Zevka was similarly unreserved in her curiosity.

"Funny who survives, isn't it?" she said. "So many capable warriors have died, yet you seem to have sustained hardly a scratch. Who could have predicted this?"

He gave her a cold stare. "We're tougher than we look."

She leaned towards him, her eyes narrowing. "I've never actually seen a toad this close up before. Is it true, what I've read about your kind? You can't make any heat for yourself, so you need an external source?"

"Oh, you've read about 'my kind', have you?" His voice was thick with derision. "Yes, it is true. But you shouldn't think it so strange. For all your tricks in winter, none of you can outlive a toad."

"Perhaps. But how do you propose to stay alive out here?"

"Tit for tat. I need help, I won't deny that. But I'm sure there are things I can do to help you."

She had no idea, as yet, the full extent of _what_ he could do – but the slight arch of her brows betrayed her curiosity. As she leaned back, there was a faint twinkle in the pine marten's eyes. "Interesting," she said.

They fell into silence. Goragula was almost taken aback that the jill hadn't leaped at the opportunity to experience his generosity. But then, why should she? None of these beasts had any respect for him, and he had done nothing to earn it. To them, he was nothing more than an old merchant, incapacitated by the snow. If he didn't prove himself useful in a way that didn't involve digging up graves like an addlebrained peasant, then that was how it would remain.

There was a remarkable dissonance in one of the wealthiest creatures in Mossflower being undermined by a clown and a few jills. Goragula had to accept the irony of it. All his life, he'd learnt to control money as a means of survival, but now, at the turn of Fate's whim, his gold meant nothing. The value of money disappeared alongside civilisation. He couldn't buy their fear. They'd slit his throat as soon as they heard the jangle of two coins together.

Goragula felt the old twitch of dread begin to stir in his stomach. He was no stranger to near death experiences. The rhythm of a toad's life is beaten out by the snapping of death's jaws: adders, pikes and herons, and the merciless sting of Winter. But he felt closer now than he'd ever been. Carrigul was many leagues away, they had lost all their supplies, and without the support of the survivors he'd die within hours. If they knew his real name – it had to be in their consciousness, somewhere – their faint disgust would turn immediately to hatred. It was a strange feeling, to be so vulnerable. Invigorating, in fact. Every second he remained alive filled him with a new vitality, so that more than ever, he felt the burning of that primal desire to survive. Journeying alongside these hotbloods would prove a dangerous task, but if he could survive the fall, he'd survive its aftermath.

He had to earn his place among them. He may be weakened, but he'd worked his way up from the bottom once before. He had it in him to do it again.

The silence was broken by a small cough from Poko. "What d'we do now?" the ferret said, wringing her paws with a long huff.

Zevka answered her. "We'll hold out for the night, and be on our way come morning."

"In the morning?" Cookie frowned. "Place'll be swarmin' with crows by then."

"And?" said Zevka. "They'll be too interested in the corpses to bother with us. It's too dangerous to travel at night."

"Noonahootin will be comin' back soon," offered the otter – Nessa, was it? – "He'll know what tae do. Ah vote we rest fer now."

Finally, the young wildcat spoke. "But … somebeast needs to keep watch while we sleep. Who knows what's out there!"

There was once again an uneasy hush. The hotbloods looked at each other in uncertainty, none wanting to volunteer to remain awake as the cold night pressed closer around them.

Goragula considered it for a moment. It was an opportunity, at least, to maintain an air of willingness. "I'll do it," he said. "I've the best eyes for it. Unless the wildcat thinks she's up to it."

She flinched away as he locked eyes with her.

They needed no further discussion. One by one, the jills curled up beside each other, nestling into their fur and coats for warmth while Cookie took a comforting seat beside Poko, resting his thick arm around her tiny frame.

Goragula stared into the fire until they were silent. Save for the gentle pulsing of his throat as he breathed, he was as still as the surface of a forgotten lake. He was mulling over the thick knot of thoughts in his head, picking apart each thread as a plan began to form. The marten had an air of ambition, and he liked that. She would live.

The others, he would see off. Not yet. But somehow. It was necessary, he reasoned; his business in Carrigul had to be carried out in utmost secrecy, and he had agreed with Roghar that he would bring nobeast but himself. Goragula was always a beast of his word. They may be useful to him now, but if he made it to Carrigul with them in tow, they could only cause problems. He'd have to get rid of them.

It would be no mean feat. He certainly could not overpower them himself, especially not with a beast like Cookie at their side. However, the strength of their youth paled in comparison to the wisdom and cunning of the toad's seasoned years. Though he could not fight them, he knew he could outwit them at any game of the mind.

And he would.

But first, he needed to gain their trust.


	10. Pepper Steak

**10. Pepper Steak**

_By: Istvan_

Despite having to dig himself out of a pile of snow and dirt and feeling like his body was one gigantic bruise, Istvan wasn't especially surprised to be alive. Then again, he would have felt the same way about his death. He was the left paw of the All-Mother, and he would live and die only by her will. And this landslide certainly represented an act of hers, another mass return of life made necessary by the great imbalance between the gift-giver and the receiver.

"Necessary, but regrettable," he said out loud. It didn't have to be like this. The otter cursed the capriciousness of belief, then drew his knife. He had important business to attend to.

The landslide had strewn the valley with rocks and the detritus of beasts' livelihoods. Cheap metal pots and pans shined like stars, smashed glass glistened silver in the moonlight, and colorfully dyed strips of cloth snagged on trees or rocks became tattered banners. More importantly, among these remnants could be found their owners. Or what was left of them.

The first one Istvan found was a weasel whose eyes stared vacantly toward the stars, but the corpse lacked any obvious wounds. Broken back, most likely. Istvan knelt down and dragged his knife across its throat. The precious red blood dripped lazily down, over his paws and onto the rocks, flowing in a pattern reminiscent of that traced out in ink on his face. Istvan asked the Mother to grant the nameless vermin a fair judgment, then rose and moved on.

Nothing happened in the world that was not a consequence of beasts' choices. The town of Yew had denied his requests to punish severe crimes by bloody execution, preferring instead the more typically woodlander method of exile. And look where that had gotten them. There were laws older and more sacred than those created by beasts, and they could not be disregarded.

Alternatively crawling and walking through the small hills of stone and snow, Istvan came upon a mouse trapped beneath several large rocks. The pitiful woodlander was struggling to free herself, but could not avail against the crushing weight. Istvan looked at the mouse, then at the rocks trapping her. He pushed on the rocks. They moved slightly.

"Help me, please," pleaded the merchant. The otter put a paw on her head and took out his knife.

"This is the greatest help I can give," he replied. "It is not for you, but for the balance of the world."

She didn't make a sound, just stared open-mouthed at him as he put the blade to her throat and returned her lifeblood to the All-Mother. Istvan admired that stoic silence. If more beasts accepted their rightful fate, the world would be a much better place.

There were others, so many others. Some of them were buried, their presence only betrayed by a tail or a paw peeking up through the rubble. Most had already passed from the earth, but still Istvan slit their necks. This way he ensured that each death was properly consecrated and the blood returned to the earth in the correct way.

The otter was finishing off a ferret when what little light he had abruptly disappeared and a familiar voice boomed from above.

"GUARDSBEAST!"

Istvan saluted. "Captain Noonahootin."

The owl landed in front of him in a great billowing of snow. "Corporal Istvan, it is good to see you alive and well. We lost so many beasts in that avalanche."

The otter thought momentarily of the many blue-uniformed beasts he had sent to the Mother during the last few hours, but only nodded.

"Guardsbeast Vanessa is the only other one of us who I have yet found alive," continued the Captain. "She is with a group of survivors not far from here."

"Ah yes, I remember Vanessa," said Istvan. Insubordinate brat with a chip on her shoulder. "She is not the first beast I would have chosen to lead a large party, unless they are inspired by copious consumption of alcohol."

The owl sighed. "I am well aware of the limitations of those under my command, Corporal. I am ordering you to meet up with her group and, as the highest-ranking guardsbeast that appears to be left, I am deputizing you with official authority to take charge of this group and get them to safety."

"Yes, sir." The otter saluted again.

"I need somebeast who is not going to lose their head and panic. I remember how you conducted yourself during the bread riots last season, Corporal. Just keep everything under control, and make sure everybeast stays safe."

"I will conduct myself in accordance with the highest principles of my duties."

"Good. Walk towards the mountain with the highest peak and you will soon reach the others; keep going in that direction and you will find a cave where you can shelter for the night. I will meet up with you after I have finished scouting the rest of the area. There may be a pass somewhere that the landslide didn't obliterate."

As he watched the owl leave, Istvan marveled at the great miracle which had just occurred. Seven seasons of service in the Guard, and only as a result of this great judgment of the Mother had he finally risen to command. Truly she favored her most loyal priest.

There was one last duty to perform, before he returned to the world of suspicious stares and mocking muttering. Taking out his knife and looking out over the great field of devastation, Istvan bowed his head and prayed.

"Great Mother of All, your priest asks you to look mercifully on those whose life has been extinguished today but through no fault of their own have not returned their blood to you. I acknowledge that as your instrument in this world, the failing is entirely mine. Therefore I offer myself as a sacrifice in their stead, so that they may receive the judgment they deserve."

He sliced his arm open, spraying crimson across the ground. After watching it drain for a few seconds, he ripped a strip from his Yew Guard's cloak and tied it around the wound. He then discarded the cloak, which after a long day of work was more holes than cloth.

As it turned out, what for an owl was a short flight was significantly longer for an otter scrambling uphill over rocky terrain in near-darkness. He could see the tall peak that was his destination only by the faint light of the moon suspended behind it. When he sighted the faint flickering of flames up ahead he offered fervent thanks to the Mother. The frozen cocktail of water and blood that caked his fur made him feel the cold most acutely, and he could not help but be cheered by the prospect of a fire.

As he approached the light, the world suddenly went sideways and he found himself lying snoutdown with something ominously sharp and metal poking in to the back of his neck.

"Who're you and what're you doing here?" croaked a voice.

"My name is Istvan, priest of the All-Mother and corporal in the Yew Guards. I was ordered by Captain Noonahootin to take command of the group that includes Guardsbeast Vanessa."

"With the Guard, are you? Fine. Get up slowly, and if you reach for that knife I'll put this spear right through you."

As Istvan rose he discovered that his attacker was a toad dressed in what appeared to be Yew Guard livery and treating him to a furious death stare. It was such an incongruous picture that he almost laughed.

"Get moving, hotblood. You're not in the clear yet," warned the beast.

Istvan walked obligingly ahead of the amphibian in to an illuminated circle of warmth filled with sitting beasts. His companion hopped over to an otter jill garbed in the familiar blue uniform.

"Hey, this otter showed up saying he's one of you. Is he telling the truth or should I give him to Cookie to make more bedrolls out of?"

"Good evening, Guardsbeast Vanessa," said Istvan.

"Weel, look who's et is! Mister Inkface an' his bloody knife tae boot."

Istvan gave her his most intimidating glare. "Apparently the Mother spares lazy drunkards as easily as she spares her most loyal follower."

The toad ribbetted impatiently. "So should I kill him or not?"

Vanessa grinned wickedly. "Sure, carry on laddie."

"I don't think Noonahootin would appreciate you threatening your superior officer, especially since he personally ordered me to take charge of this group."

The otttermaid threw up her paws. "He what?! Huh, an' Ah thought that owl had sense. O' all the beasts..."

"Interesting company you're keeping," remarked Istvan.

"Shut yer muzzle, yer no better than any of 'em."

"I only do my duty. I would gladly have continued to attend to the necessary balance of life, but the Captain ordered me to assume command here and escort this group to a cave farther up the mountain."

By now the rest of the group had shifted position to listen to the otters' conversation. One of them, a rat, began accosting Istvan.

"Who's the captain to be sendin' you in here tellin' us what to do? It's cold an' we don't have proper coats, it's dark, we're all hurtin' from bein' in a landslide, and all of us here have lost friends today."

The tattooed otter rounded on her. "I am Istvan, most beloved priest of the All-Mother-"

"-'an the Guard's local religious crackpot", Vanessa cut in. She glanced at his bloody arm and shrunk back imperceptibly, barely veiled disgust in her tone.

"Ye've been busy haven't ye? Noo Ah'm sure there aren't any survivors left alive oot there. Ah still cannae believe that owl left ye in charge."

"There's seven of us and one of him. I don't think he has any authority to be ordering us around," commented a pine marten jill. Istvan didn't like the look of that one. She seemed to think herself far too clever for her own good.

The group as a whole seemed a pretty motley assortment. Aside from the irritating pine marten there was the toad, Guardsbeast Vanessa, the mouthy rat, a ferret who looked like an old fighter, a young wildcat with a limp arm whose tail was bottlebrushing impressively, and an even younger ferretmaid who despite her comical hedgehog costume looked like the walking dead. Istvan was under no illusions about his fighting abilities, but this lot seemed to be in no condition to be threatening harm. On the other paw, neither was he in his current cold, hungry, and bruised condition.

"Listen," he said. "While I think it would be a great boon to the world if the lot of you returned your lifeblood to the Mother, against my better judgement I am delaying this until she herself decides that it is time for you to pay for your offenses. However, I did not come here to put my orders to a vote: Captain Noonahootin told me that we must move into this cave, and I intend to make sure this is carried out."

The rat bristled. "An' I think you can take yer orders an' shove 'em-"

"He's right," interrupted the older ferret. Fourteen eyes immediately fixed themselves on him.

"It's gettin' colder, and we don't want to be spendin' the night out in the open like this. Too bloody dark to find tents an' such, an' fire's worthless with all this wind, even if we had enough wood to keep it goin' all night."

Istvan blinked. That was... unexpected. He could not recall the last time somebeast had stuck up for him. It probably helped that this ferret was not influenced by the horror stories about him that made the rounds of the Guard barracks, but it was still a welcome surprise. The Mother had blessed him with at least one helpful companion, it seemed. Even if he did appear to be wearing somebeast's freshly skinned hide.

"Actually, his _captain_ is right. His _captain_ clearly has a decent head on his shoulders. But let's not confuse the two - I don't care for the orders of beasts who aren't smart enough to at least _pretend_ that they don't want me dead," the marteness looked pointedly at Istvan, her already squinting eyes narrowing even more.

Despite the marten's insistence at getting in the last word, with much muttering and groaning everybeast began to break camp. As they did so, the otter got a better look at his new companions and couldn't help but wonder if Noonahootin had been in possession of all the facts. The group contained three young vermin, only one of whom - the pine marten whom he heard addressed as Zevka - seemed to be in adequate mental and physical shape. Vanessa, barely into adulthood herself, disregarded his orders flippantly. The ferret who had helped him had a hole in his stomach. The rat, apparently called Gashrock, favored her left paw excessively. Greenfleck the toad seemed more or less unscathed, but you could never tell with amphibians. Istvan wondered if it would be more merciful to send them all to the Mother now.

Well, he had his orders and he would not deviate from them. If these beasts died in the process then all the better. The ragtag group crawled their way up the moonlit slope, surrounded by the moans of innumerable wounded still trapped in the devastation of the Mother's wrath and laden with torches, scavenged clothes, and the meager amount of firewood they could salvage. Mountains, Istvan soon discovered, only looked beautiful from far away. Up close they were full of deadly crevices, slick with ice buried under unassuming piles of snow, and covered in impossibly sharp rocks that sliced through his boots and into the pads of his paws. Never had he felt so nostalgic for the city of Yew, for all its accusations, hatred, sin, and lies.

He felt a slight tinge of respect for the old ferret, who not only led the group but did so while carrying the younger one of his species. They must be related somehow, though their features were so dissimilar it could not be by blood. The otter himself fell in line next to the young wildcat, and after a while he noticed that she was edging away from him with a wide-eyed look of fear.

"I already said that I wasn't going to make you all pay for your crimes yet. Has Vanessa been filling your head with lies about the All-Mother?"

"How do you stand it?" she blurted out. "There's so many..."

"Excuse me?"

"Nyika sees dead beasts," said the pine marten from behind them. "All those beasts whose deaths you so charmingly describe as a gift to the All-Mother? To her, those are beasts with feelings and loved ones who have just died horribly and can't even move on yet. I don't know if I believe that or not but it doesn't matter. It's real enough to her that she doesn't need you gloating about it."

The wildcat nodded mutely. Unable to contain his emotion, Istvan burst out, "But that's amazing! What a great blessing it must be, to be able to communicate with those who have returned to the Mother."

He had intended it as a compliment, but the look Nyika shot him indicated that she interpreted it as anything but. Strange. The otter made a mental note to investigate this wildcat further. He had encountered many false prophets in his days, but anybeast so clearly terrified was worth listening to.

When Cookie- apparently this was what they called the older ferret, though unless his mother had been a hungry lackwit it was most likely a nickname- finally called back that he could see the cave, the group was too exhausted to muster up any kind of excitement. Yet once they crowded in to their new lodgings, nobeast seemed able to fall asleep. Most of them huddled together talking quietly, while Gashrock and Istvan labored to get a fire going. In truth the rat did most of the work, but the otter at least had enough strength left to salvage some boards from a mostly intact cart that had landed just outside the cave.

"I'll take watch," he said. She nodded and, opening the kit she had hauled with her, began to mend her clothes with a focus that belied the day's traumatic events.

Istvan, meanwhile, sat alone at the cave mouth watching the sky, marveling at how much of a wondrous night it was. The Mother was here, on this day more than he had ever seen before. She had blessed him, saved him from her judgment and raised him higher than before. He would repay her by not swaying from his duty. He drew his knife and looked down the carefully sharpened blade.

It was winter. The All-Mother would have her due.


	11. The Art of Flying in the Snow

**11. The Art of Flying in the Snow**

_By: Noonahootin_

He had to get back. He had to get back to Yew.

Terrible things had happened.

It had been the screams that had alerted him to the collapsing road short hours ago. His feet had not doomed him to fall with the earth as had the rest of the caravan, and his wings had kept him safe from pain, death, and fear. Noonahootin had looked down, peering through the thick blanket of heavy snow that flurried about him, and gasped when he saw the road simply crumble away and drag his Yew comrades and their charges down with it. He had been still for a moment, shock ripping through him and creating a painful pit in his chest that gnawed through him even still. When his senses had returned, he had searched fervently for any survivors, using the dimming daylight to aid him as it did when he hunted.

The results had been disappointing. With the dead far outnumbering the living, the Yew scout had gone raw in the throat from crying out to anyone who might have been alive, screeching and hooting to let everyone who had survived know _he_ was still there. Captain Flax had not been found, nor had the Dew Hurst leader Pyracantha. Noonahootin had searched for _any_ sign of movement by the ruin that was the road, and yet had only seen two other Yew guards along with some faceless riffraff whom he had directed towards the cave up the way. It was the same cave Flax had intended for them to camp that night. They had gotten so close to safety, ...

Thinking back on the last survivors he _had_ managed to find, Guardsbeast Vanessa Fern and Corporal Istvan had been the only other Yew Guards to live. He had discovered Istvan conversing with a ferret, the otter's paws bloodied from slitting the throats of those he had found dead. Forcing himself not to react at all towards the strange religion, Noonahootin had figured that at least Istvan had been doing something he felt productive, even if it was...disturbing to someone who wasn't a fellow practitioner of the doctrine. The otter was strange in his beliefs, sure enough, but had never come across as truly dangerous and so the Captain, as the highest ranking officer left, had given Istvan something even more productive to do in being a leader. In doing so, Noonahootin had chosen to trust Istvan with the lives of the survivors. He deeply hoped that the corporal would not let him down.

Guardsbeast Fern, however, had been a different story. "Poor thing..." Noonahootin breathed heavily when he finally found it within himself to speak. His words came out airily, and he realized he had been holding his breath since he took off for Yew. The road collapse had rattled the veteran to his very bones, and although the battles he had fought within his years had shown him true gore and the violence of beast hurting beast, _nature_ had always proven to be the most devastating of all forces. At least in battle, when your friends and comrades fell, they could be remembered with pride having gone down in _glory_. The ottermaid had lost her only true friend in Guardsbeast Kent, and would forever remember her friend's end in sadness.

Where had the tremor _come_ from? Noonahootin had not felt the earth shake from the air. His wings didn't afford him that experience. Nor had he seen any signs of recent avalanches or rock slides in the mountainous region. It truly was as though nature had been waiting for them. The owl shuddered, distraught with the idea of his dead comrades buried under the road's ruin. Captain Flax had been wary about such dangers, and now the vole was somewhere beneath a boulder, back broken and blood painting the snow. The poor fellow deserved a proper burial, risking life and limb for this expedition, and Noonahootin couldn't even find his body. Lord Aster would be disappointed in him when he got back to Yew.

Wings flapping furiously, muscles aching beyond anything, and ears ringing with a fading choir of panicked screams, the Yew Captain's attention was suddenly snapped away from him. In his natural surroundings of darkness, motion had caught the scout's eyes and so Noonahootin swooped a little lower, flying against the snow that still lightly crumbled from the sky. Below, but still on ground higher than the road the caravan had been travelling on, was a gaggle of..._some_things. At first glance, the owl thought they were travellers, perhaps some mice and shrews, but as he got closer to the beasts he realized they were _moles_.

_Diggers!_ Champion! _They can help dig out survivors come daylight! _Noonahootin's beaky lips curled into a broad smile, and the owl hastily made his way towards the moles. He screeched once to let them know he approached, and as he glided down, he couldn't help but notice how the six-strong troupe of moles scattered before collecting themselves again.

"Hoo-HOO, hello down there!" the owl bellowed, hoping he sounded more jovial than desperate. "I hail from Yew, I won't harm you! We need help!"

The moles reacted, and Noonahootin saw one load a sling at the mention of Yew. It was peculiar but nothing about the moles, from their drab green and grey raggedy clothes to their painted faces, registered as nefarious. The scout had seen this tribe before, but most of what he knew about them had come from the reports of more grounded scouts; they were very solitary, and rarely even spotted in daylight let alone at night. In the darkness that had snaked into the mountain pass, the sling was whirled and the stone flew right at the Captain, glancing off of his left foot and shattering a toe on impact. Noonahootin squealed painfully, fiery amber eyes narrowing as he diverted course and dodged more stones, flying over the moles instead of landing. His turned his head around, looking over his shoulder at the tribe, and just below his tail feathers he could make out the moles aiming arrows. Quickly, he gained height, narrowly missing a wayward bolt. From the ground, he heard a distinct screech, high-pitched and very, very loud. A mole, larger than the others and wielding a wooden whistle, gestured to his comrades and the tribe animals scattered in an instant, disappearing into the rocks.

Confused at the moles' aggression, the Yew scout circled the area once more, trying to understand what had happened. Perhaps the simplest of explanations, he thought, was that the moles figured he was there to _eat_ them.

"Terribly gamey things, never touch mole myself. HRAUFF! Much prefer pan-seared green frog...with a nice dry white wine...perhaps a summer Muscadet."

Yet...the more he thought about it, the more Noonahootin came to realize that theory didn't match up with what he already knew about the tribe. The moles must have felt the earthquake as well, and their terror had driven them to attack a beast that had never threatened them. The few times Noonahootin had seen the moles, they had always been curious, poking their tiny heads out of their hiding holes to better see the grey owl, and always in _day_.

"Savage little blighters!" Noonahootin spat while curling his foot with its broken appendage closer to his belly, letting the soft feathers bring the talon some semblance of comfort. Indignation filled his chest, and the owl had half a mind to go back, pick one of the little devils up and drop them from a very great height. Noonahootin closed his eyes momentarily, taking a slow, heavy breath. He reminded himself he had suffered nothing compared to the poor earth walkers. Those who had suddenly ceased to be, crushed by debris or buried alive and far too deep to ever be dug out before suffocation took them in the darkness and cold. Noonahootin felt so very, very raw thinking about those who died the slow deaths. How terrifying and powerful the land and fates could be. He shook his head sadly, and instead focused his attentions on discovering the fastest path the rescue efforts could take back from Yew and bring everybody home.

The winds were silent, Noonahootin lamented, and the air was very thin in the mountain heights. The ledges that spanned the vast valley were covered in snow and many had caves carved out by erosion and time. There were great patches of intensely green grass poking up through heavy snow, and great tall trees were bent double in some places from the recent storm. It was hauntingly beautiful, Noonahootin mused, yet terrifyingly treacherous. There was a sort of entrancing magic about the old Northern Mountains in the winter when one got to view them from the skies.

He had been meaning to teach young Wingchut these winter passages. It was easy to get lost in the beauty. Perhaps that is why Noonahootin did not hear the wing beats until they were right behind him. His swivelled his head, looking as far over his shoulder as he could, and his eyes widened to the size of tea saucers.

Talons black as the night were stretched out towards him, and her wings, vast and reaching, were pure white save for a few black specks along her primary feathers. The snowy owl's black beak was wickedly sharp and her eyes, yellow as fear and as wide as full moons, were set upon him with deep, fixed hatred.

Her talons locked into his shoulder where his wing met with his body, and one snagged his cheek, ripping the flesh and snagging painfully on his cheekbone. He hastily kicked out, hoping to gouge the large snowy owl while screeching in her face, but only managed to trap his broken toe within the white wraith's feathers.

"I'M NOT HERE TO HARM YOUR NEST! I'M-AUUUG-JUST PASSING THROO_HOO_!"

The female clenched her talons and braked hard in flight, her legs stretching out with the inertia. Noonahootin broke from her, losing a chunk of feather and flesh from his shoulder, his broken toe on fire with pain, and his face slit to the bone. The tundra bird would not let up her attack, slashing at him with her talons, and with great alarm Noonahootin realized the female was not defending any nest.

He barely had his wings folded to quickly dive into the trees and she was after him again, eerily silent save for the sound of her wings faintly slicing through the air. Noonahootin twisted, first his head to check his position and then his body as soon as he felt he had gained a distance he was comfortable with. Determinedly, he had remained close to the white attacker but still far ahead enough to have a chance to breathe and, when she grew too close, he beat his wings as hard as he could against the pain to charge at her, screeching a distressed battle cry. She met him a second later, her body colliding into his and knocking the wind out of both predators. Noonahootin grabbed her leg within his talons, beating at her face with his beak, stabbing at her with his wounded foot. She lashed back at him with her wings, scoring blow after blow, and together, spiralling uncontrollably, they fell.

Noonahootin leaned back to unlock his nails from her, and the snowy owl suddenly spread her wings to abruptly slow their descent, jerking the captain up and unlatching his grip from her prematurely. She flew up and Noonahootin followed, but felt a sudden seize in his wing as he tried to pursue her. The silent white owl noticed his hesitation and swooped down, tackling Noonahootin out of the air. He tumbled, quickly slamming into the top branch of a tall spruce tree, and barely managed to right himself enough to glide wobbly into a small open patch of grass. The snowy owl passed above him, intent on doubling back and making sure the job was done. Noonahootin took the brief opportunity to drag himself into nearby brush cover at the foot of a tree, and flattened himself against the trunk, staying stalk-still. His striped feathers hid him against the bark of the tree, and there is where Captain Noonahootin remained until the snowy owl began to search broader circles around where he had gone down, a sign that she was confused and could not find him. Eventually, when the darkness became thicker and the night had a firm stranglehold on the mountain, the snowy owl hunting above him deserted her search in favour of returning home.

Thanking his stars that she was a day-hunter and probably exhausted from the night battle, Noonahootin dragged himself from his hiding place within the shrubs and stumbled stiffly out. He brushed off the snow he had compacted upon his wounded shoulder and toe, flexing very daintily. The captain then tested his wings, flapping them but once before he quickly hissed in pain and pulled his wings tight against his body. He hobbled upon his feet, broken toe making every step send a shooting pain up his leg as he paced uncomfortably upon the ground. He hated the ground. The ground was a scary place.

There was no other choice, though. He had to get back, but now he was not sure where he had to get back _to_. He would never make it to Yew if the snowy owl managed to find him again, but he still had to bring help to the survivors of the road collapse. A painful realization struck Noonahootin that, as the only flying beast left of the ill-fated caravan, he was the only one capable of meeting the ghostly harfang in battle. Istvan had his blade, sure enough, but he did not know if the otter or even Guardsbeast Fern were game enough to take on the huge white monster. Neither was truly battle-tested, and the captain highly doubted any of the remaining Dewhurst players or the merchants would be able to fight for themselves. They were _maids_, and the one other male left was a ferret who had been skinning a rat. As resourceful as the ferret appeared, his behaviour was not entirely trustworthy.

With a deep resigned breath, Noonahootin spread his wings and then paused, bracing himself. The deep scores and loose flesh testament to the snowy owl's prowess felt like they were on fire and his whole body ached, but he would not be swayed.

He had to get back. He had to get back to the survivors.

The captain beat his wings, and took off.

A moment later, the owl settled wearily upon a branch near the top of a pine tree, heaving great, desperate breaths, greedily sucking cold air in and breathing it out in fiery blasts of white mist. His eyes, always wide in a predator's gaze, were stretched over half his face, and his ears were standing stalk-straight upon his crown. The short flight had hurt far more than he had been ready for.

"Ooh, curses," the owl moaned heavily, and braced himself yet again, not looking forward to his time away from a comfortable, safe perch.

The night remained cloudy and with no moon to guide him the Captain flew slowly. The silence once again haunted Noonahootin in his flight and he shuddered in the cold despite the heat of his wounds. He sincerely hoped that Corporal Istvan had gathered the rest of the survivors and found a few more alive as he made way to the cave. Hopefully, there would be a warm fire to rest by when he arrived, although he grimly wondered if a fire, while necessary, would attract any more enemies that night.

Short hours before dawn, the long-eared owl finally located the cave, half a mile up from the road just as Flax had said. For the first time in what felt like a long time, Noonahootin felt relief. Gliding past the mouth of the grotto and into warm firelight, Noonahootin stumbled before collapsing onto his belly, amber eyes wide and desperate as he looked at the startled group.

"One, two, three...four, five...what? Only eight? There's only nine of us? There's no one else?" Slowly, the captain pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily upon his good foot. He looked to Istvan, and asked very softly, "There's truly no one else?"

The otter silently shook his head, compulsively wiping his knife clean on his coat before sheathing it pointedly. The owl sighed, and then pulled himself up as much as he could to give heed to the rest of the small band. Most of them were still shivering and damp with snow; some were tending to their very fresh wounds. Noonahootin realized they had only just managed to assemble themselves in the cave a short time ago.

"Well...I...I suppose this will have to do," the Captain muttered, coughing and clearing his throat. "CAPTAIN Noonahootin, reporting! Thank-you, Corporal Istvan, for your assistance. I'd like to speak to you and _Guardsbeast Fern_, over here please."

As Istvan dutifully picked himself up from where he had been sitting by the fire, Vanessa for once hustled. Her gaze trained into the depths of the fire, at the sound of her name she snapped from a reverie and quickly joined Captain Noonahootin's side, saluting. The Captain painfully returned her gesture.

"Terrible things have happened." Noonahootin looked at each of the remaining Yew Guard. He took a slow, steady breath. "I was attacked no less than twice whilst trying to reach Yew. We are in very grave danger. Important decisions must now be made."

"What? An' 'oo would go'n attack _ye_, Cap'n?" Vanessa leaned in closely. Even Istvan cocked a brow.

"The first time," Noonahootan began, lifting his foot into the air so they could see his sadly broken talon, "was from a local tribe of moles. It was very peculiar. They're usually a passive bunch, solitary-like. They started slinging stones and shooting off arrows as soon as they spotted me." The owl shifted on his feet uncomfortably, the flat cave ground grating against his curved nails. "I've never seen them in daylight, nor head reports of them being spotted at night."

"Moles?" Vanessa seemed unable to move past the tribe's stock.

"Yes," Noonahootin barked, unimpressed with the guardsbeast's incredulous expression. The ottermaid shrunk back, though maintained a dismissive air about her slouching form.

"Moles?" A new voice, as skeptical as Vanessa had been and with far more femininity to it, spoke out.

Noonahootin turned his head right around, fluffing himself up as he did so, and looked petulantly at the pine martin jill with wide amber eyes. "Impudence! I do not tolerate eavesdropping, _madam_!"

"That's Madam _Blackbriar_ to you, sir," the pine marten shot back, and took up a place right beside Guardsbeast Vanessa as if she belonged there. "Never heard of an _owl_ being attacked by its supper before, but if it's dangerous, than it's bad for us."

"Alrright," Vanessa said quietly, at last accepting.

"The first time, you said? You were attacked a second time, Captain?" Istvan spoke while glancing sidelong at the pine marten, sharing his superior officer's disdain for the beast.

"Zevka?" A small ferret lass, standing tall enough to just meet Noonahootin at the hip, was slinking slowly towards the group, and following in her wake was the ferret who had previously admitted to skinning the rat carcass.

"Nyika is talking to herself. I don't want to be around her if she's..." the little ferret then twirled her paws about her ears, twitching her face spastically.

The pine marten sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"It is not insanity that haunts her," Istvan quickly corrected the young ferret. "The All-Mother has given her a gift, and like all beasts she does not yet appreciate the gifts she has been given. Now then, Captain," Istvan turned to the owl. "What happened after the moles attacked you? What else is out there?"

"What's this, then? Moles attacked the owl? I'd love ter see that, eh!" the older ferret cut in, and behind him the rat who had been rescued by Vanessa and a toad Noonahootin had not seen before suddenly lifted their heads in interest.

"Now, now," Noonahootin hissed, swatting weakly at the ferret and then putting his large wing around the kit's shoulders, blanketing her. "Child, just go to sleep. It has been a long day, and I'm sure this 'Nyika' is just sorting through what she's been through."

"_I'm_ not talking to myself, and I'm pretty sure I have it worse'n _her_."

"Poko, just go to sleep," Zevka said through a frustrated sigh.

""I'd _like_ to but it's kinda hard when that crazy cat over there won't shut her gob. Can't you make her-"

"_MISS_ Poko!" Noonahootin boomed sternly, his wings spread wide and every feather splayed as his circular eyes locked with the suddenly very nervous jill. The pain sliced through his shoulder, however, so the owl quickly folded his wings back against his body, drawing a deep breath. He smiled at Poko, and nudged her in the direction of the fire.

"Go stay warm, then. Everyone will be to bed in a tic."

The male ferret, his champaign coat gleaming gold in the firelight, had been about to jump to Poko's defense at Noonahootin's hard-nosed tone, and so she looked to him hopefully to give her permission to stay. However, when the other ferret saw there was no real issue and remained passive, Poko rolled her eyes and scowled, hunching over unhappily. The action made the spikes upon her hedgehog costume stick up indignantly straight and, sensing it was wiser to simply do as she was told than to argue, Poko turned and made her way back to the camp fire, grumbling moodily as she went.

"Sorry ter interrupt, no wait, that's a lie, _what_ about savage moles?" the rat had made her way over to the group of adults, the toad following after her in a slow crawl.

"Oh, bother," Noonahootin groaned, finally accepting defeat. There would be no privacy with his fellow Yew guards now. "_WHOO_ are you, then?"

"The rat twitched her whiskers. "Gashrock."

"And YOU?" the owl looked to the remaining ferret.

"Call me Cookie."

"Greenfleck," the toad introduced himself with a small curtsey.

"Fine, fine," Noonahootin nodded curtly. "I did not want to start a panic, _but_ there is a local tribe of moles that live in this area. I fear they have been traumatized by the earthquake and, as a result, are on full offences. They attacked me."

"Moles?" the rat said slowly, running the word along her tongue like a thick broth.

"Not _just moles_," the captain sighed, exasperated. "After the initial attack, I continued to Yew to fetch help. Shortly after, something far more deadly descended upon me," Noonahootin continued, pointedly ignoring the dubious look the rat was giving him. "This," the owl scout gestured to his shoulder and pointed a talon at the deep gouge down his face, "was not done by any rodent."

"Could've been, looks like blade cuts. What was it, then?" Risk asked loftily, his beady eyes scanning the bird's shoulder wound.

"This was the work of _my_ kind," Noonahootin said while he pointedly clacked his good toes against the stone floor, his tone dangerously low, "Only bigger."

"What?" Gashrock gasped, shuffling away from the mouth of the cave. "Yeh mean there's _more_ ruddy birds out there? Ah, Hell's teeth!"

"Indeed," the captain said, his tone stern. "This one is fierce, and deadly as well. When she first attacked me, she came up from behind in an ambush, silent as smoke. I thought she was protecting her nest, but it's not hatching season and she wouldn't let up after I informed her why I was no threat. It was astounding; after the light had gone, she kept circling! Even after I was downed from the air, she continued to search for me, like I was some...some sort of _prey_."

"Hmph, did she now..." the rat growled.

The owl looked at the group assembled before him, his brow creased in worry. "I don't know if the moles will continue to threaten us, but this harfang poses a serious threat."

"Wot should we do?" Vanessa blurted out, and then quietly and unexpectedly added, "Captain."

"For now, we rest," Noonahootin said decisively, squatting in the mouth of the cave, his feathers fluffed up as he dutifully attempted to block out the cold and keep the light from the fire hidden. "It has been a truly devastating day for all of us. Let us take the time to lick our wounds, and try to get some sleep. Come daylight, we shall have to decide what course of action to take."

"Return to Yew, obviously!" Vanessa spouted, but Zevka's expression contorted at these words.

"No, we should keep going. We should continue to Carrigul." The pine marten's tone was insistent.

"We're not going anywhere tonight," Noonahootin snapped, sensing tension and the firing up of tempers. "Tonight..." the grey owl sighed, "Tonight, we rest."


	12. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

**12. A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes**

_By: Nyika_

With the owl's declaration everybeast scattered, going their own separate ways to gather together by the fire. Captain Noonahootin settled himself at the entrance of the cave to take the first watch, preening his feathers of blood while the rest tended to their own injuries. Gashrock milled about, first targeting the young Poko, tutting over her gashes and bruises before wielding a sewing needle and green thread. Poko whimpered at her impending fate.

Nyika sat cross-legged by the fire, watching the others as she clutched her broken arm close to her body. The pain was unbearable and despite her exhaustion she wasn't sure she would be able to get any rest. Still, she tried, laying sprawled on her back, her head resting on the stone floor of the cave warmed by the fire. She opened her eyes at Zevka's nudging.

"Let me take a look at that arm."

The wildcat grumbled, hissing through her teeth as she sought to rise. After laying down, it was more effort than she cared to admit. With Zevka's aid she managed, groaning as the pine marten took her arm into her possession and felt along the bone.

After a moment she growled. "I don't get it. The bone doesn't seem to be broken. You really can't move it?"

"No," Nyika said, moaning as Zevka's digits pressed into her flesh. "Zevka, leave it be, please. It hurts."

"No," the pine marten said, her response curt and annoyed. Her prodding was nearing the cat's shoulder. Nyika bit her lip; she felt like howling.

Zevka huffed a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, but we can't just leave this injury alone. It could end up killing you."

"Are you really a healer like Poko said?" Nyika had to ask.

"I'm not," Zevka admitted. "But I've read books on the matter. That should suffice, right?"

Nyika's wide, incredulous eyes stared at the pine marten. "You don't even know! I'm not going to die. Or if I do, that's fine, too. Just leave it alone!" She let loose a short gasp of pain.

"What's this?" Cookie said, startling Nyika into a fluffed tail. He towered over them, the gash in his side wet and gleaming red accented with green. Nyika's ears flattened against her head, the cat cowering in her seat. She did not like the champagne ferret; something about him set her fur on edge.

"Nyika has a broken arm, but I can't feel where the bone split," Zevka explained.

"I've mended a few broken bones. Let me see." He sat without an invitation.

"Are you sure it's not the other way around?" Nyika muttered, failing to hide the darkness in her tone or the scowl she had adorned.

Cookie grinned. "No." Taking Nyika's arm in his paws he began pressing for information. His touch was more delicate than Zevka's, using his claws in lieu of his bulky and calloused digits.

Nyika's fur stood up all over her body, a discomforting feeling growing inside as he continued to touch her. She shot Zevka a pleading look. She did not like him and she did not want to be near him. Why couldn't they both just leave her alone? Her breath caught as he rounded near her shoulder.

"Ah, it's been dislocated." Moving his paws into position, he said, "This is goin' to hurt."

"What's going to hurt? What are you going to do?" Nyika said, fear taking hold of her voice.

"I'm goin' to pop it back in. Ready?"

"No! I'm not ready! Don't do it!"

"All right," Cookie said, then twisted Nyika's arm at an awkward angle.

The wildcat screamed, hot furious pain spreading like a wildfire from her shoulder down her arm and across her back. It felt like he had just torn her arm out of her socket. She pulled away from him, baring her fangs as she shot him a vicious hiss.

"Can you move it?" Cookie said, not bothering to hide the amusement.

"No," Nyika whimpered, even as both Cookie and Zevka spied the way her elbow bent inwards, her paw curling into a fist as her claws left their sheaths to knead the air. She pressed her arm against her body, curling around it and moaning.

"Oy, Gashy! Bring a sling over here," Cookie called.

The rat was slow in responding, muttering that she had more important things to tend to than a wildcat with a fake broken arm. Taking the blanket set for Nyika, she cut a piece of fabric with her dagger and tied a makeshift sling for the cat.

"That'll do her," Cookie said once the job was done.

Nyika pressed her head against the floor, drool pooling from her mouth in a pathetic whimper. Cookie's paws padded away in a ramble.

"Hey Cookie," Zevka said. "Thanks. That needed to happen."

Nyika cursed the world for pitting everybeast against her.

"Give it a few days of rest. Once the swelling goes down, you'll be able to use your arm properly again," Zevka said, rubbing a paw over the wildcat's back. Nyika whimpered in response.

Everybeast else had settled for the night, using the meager supplies they had scavenged throughout the trek. There were few blankets, but with the small bonfire Gashrock and Istvan had built using broken wagon pieces and other kindling, they were mostly used as pillows to rest weary heads. Zevka curled up next to Nyika with Poko settling on the pine marten's other side. Nessa laid next to Poko, exhibiting a quiet disapproving whine from the wildcat. Nyika did not want to leave herself open to the elements or anything else that might assail them in the small cavern.

Zevka's tail swished, brushing over the wildcat's body. In instinct Nyika grabbed it, keeping the twitching appendage close to her as a babe would his most cherished security blanket. Her tongue came out unbidden, grooming between bouts where she would rub her face against the soft fur. For the first time in a long while, a quiet purr elicited from the weary wildcat. Just like a fox's tail. Just like her surrogate mother's. The tail ceased twitching, and Nyika closed her eyes.

When she opened them, she was alone. The fire had died to mere embers, yet it still radiated heat like a furnace. Nyika sat up, curious. Where had everybeast gone? Sitting up, she looked about. There was no sign of anything. No creatures, no supplies, only the dying fire and herself.

"Zevka?" she called, hearing her voice echo around her, muffled in her own ears, entrapped in a solitary glass bubble. The wildcat rose, not realizing the fact that her dislocated arm moved without pain or struggle, her left paw bearing her weight against the floor. The sling Gashrock had made her was lost and forgotten. With tentative steps she approached the mouth of the cavern, curious eyes looking out into the dark night. Stars glimmered before her in the sky, the moon bright but menacing as it cast down its ghastly smile from above. The wildcat shuddered, venturing outside. There was no wind, no snowfall, only the whiteness that dusted the broken ledge before the lip of the cave. There were no pawprints, no answer, and curiously, no chill.

"Poko?" she tried, but there was no response. Only silence.

"Nessa?"

Had they abandoned her? There didn't seem to be any sign of them outside. Feeling alone, Nyika turned back towards the fire, the glowing embers casting a more radiant light than was natural but the cat didn't think of the oddity. They were still warm and she sat close by, wrapping her arms about her legs to mope. Why would they leave her like that? She huffed, whiskers drooping, ears pinned back against her head. Such as well. Nobeast ever wanted to keep her around once they found out her inconvenient gift. Zevka hadn't believed it, but now the pine marten was becoming unsure. No wonder she packed her bags and left. No wonder they left her to die alone on this miserable rock. Superstitious or not, nobeast wanted ghosts trailing in their wake and who was there to attract them but Nyika herself?

Heaving a sigh, she gave one last good look around the cavern, her eyes settling on the dark expanse beyond the glowing embers at the back of the cave, for the first time realizing just how vast and encroaching the inky blackness truly was. She rose from her seat. There had been no paw prints outside, so if the group had gone anywhere it would have been deeper into the tunnel. She took a step forward.

It was at the edge of darkness where light refused to shine that she realized just how terrible her decision had been. When it had been so silent before, now, she could hear it. Despite the icy paw of fear that crept up her spine, Nyika's ears swiveled forward, trying to discern the noise.

It was voices, hundreds of voices, all talking over each other in a soft, indiscernable murmur. Nyika hesitated, listening, aware that the voices were growing, but obvlivious to the darkness encroaching upon her being. Suddenly a dark shadow had been cast over the wildcat, chilling her body to her core. The voices increased tenfold, assailing her ears in shouts and screams. Shivering, Nyika took a fearful step back, plunging herself into the light and warmth and forcing the voices into a quiet murmur, but the darkness continued to advance. Even within the light the voices were growing, crying out and wailing with every backwards step she took. An overwhelming sense of terror surrounded her, rooting her legs to the floor, making her fur stand on end, her tail fluffing, each hair threatening to leap from her body. She was covered in darkness, the chill cutting deep into her clothing, into her fur, into her flesh, all the way down to her bones. The voices were screaming now, demanding to know what it was they had done, why they had deserved their fate, and lamenting about their unjust punishment. They wanted retribution.

Nyika opened her mouth to scream but terror seized her throat, stealing her voice. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, but still she could not scream. There was nothing she could do. Frantically she tried to force some noise out, working around the solid rock of ice lodged in her throat. They were coming for her; she could sense it. A horrific presence of death and decay approaching at breakneck speed. They were going to drag her back with them, back into the deepest crevices where no light would ever shine again. She was going to die in here.

Somehow her voice broke free, a whimper that grew to a dull moan. It was all she could manage. Rooted to the spot, she forced herself louder, the moan raising in volume, her legs still held fast against the floor. They were coming for her. She moaned again, trying with all her might to free herself from her intangible bounds.

A paw pressed against her back.

Nyika screamed.

"Nyika!" Zevka hissed, shaking the wildcat awake. "Shh! It's all right! It's all right!"

She was still screaming when she opened her eyes, still screaming when she realized Zevka was hovering over her. After having found her voice, it seemed as though she had forgotten how to lose it.

"Shh! Shh!" Zevka hushed, grabbing the cat's muzzle and forcing it closed. "It was just a dream! You were having a bad dream!"

Nyika quieted, her breath coming in quick, short pants. Her eyes were wide with terror and her body was shaking in a vicious tremor.

"You're safe," Zevka said, relaxing once she saw the cat had truly woken.

"Where am I?" Nyika demanded.

"You're with friends," Zevka said. "In … a less than friendly situation."

The cat nodded, the previous night's events coming back to her. Pulling herself up, she looked around. Everybeast was accounted for as they shuffled about in their places, no doubt disturbed by her screaming. The owl stood at the mouth of the cave, eyes wide, head held acute in curiosity. No stars and no moon could be seen beyond. Large, hot flames still danced in the fire, not the dying embers she had remembered, and off to the side the same darkness that had seized her in a frantic embrace of terror. A chill grew up her spine looking into the shadows, her fur standing on end. She felt like screaming all over again.

"Shh," Zevka cooed, smoothing Nyika's fluffed tail. "It was just a nightmare. Nothing more."

Her breath was getting shorter, shuddering with every inhale. Turning away from the darkness the cat wrapped an arm about the pine marten in a trembling hug, burying her face against the crook of her neck.

Zevka allowed it, stroking the back of the cat's head as she let Nyika sob quietly into her fur.

"It was just a dream," the pine marten said.

It was a while before Nyika had calmed down enough for Zevka to detach the cat from her body, pushing her with a gentle touch to the floor.

"Go back to sleep," she said, running her paw over Nyika's fur in a soft pet. "We have a long day tomorrow."

Nyika nodded but her heart was too awake, too frantic. She couldn't go back to sleep now. Still, she tried, and after what seemed an eternity the wildcat rose to sit before the fire, watching the flames dance as she clutched her legs to her body, her tail twitching in agitation. A soft click could be heard approaching nearby, a mass of feathers rustling as Nyika felt the owl's presence settle next to her.

"What troubles you, Miss Nyika?" the owl asked, his voice quiet, conscious of the others' slumber.

Nyika sighed but did not answer. Instead, she continued to watch the flames dance before her eyes, finding the fire's heat and hypnotic crackle soothing. Then she spoke.

"I witnessed the birth of a haunting tonight."

A silent moment passed before Zevka stirred, the pine marten pulling herself to sit at Nyika's other side.

"A terrible thing has happened," Noonahootin said, his plumage fluffing. He seemed to grow twice his size. "You believe the beasts that died will haunt this pass?"

Nyika remained silent, unsure what to say. Tell him yes, the ghosts that lingered would forever haunt the passage betwixt Yew and Carrigul for all eternity? He'd think her crazy. She was already on poor terms with Poko. Nessa didn't quite know what to think of her, and Zevka was merely humouring her for the time being. What would happen when the others learned of her curse? Cookie would laugh, Gashrock would sniff and scoff, Greenfleck would dismiss it, and Istvan … Istvan would give her the kind of attention that would unravel her. Nyika was alone, just like in her dream. Once they all found out, they would leave her behind.

The fire continued to crackle before them. Noonahootin did not press for which Nyika was thankful, while Zevka nodded off beside her. The cat turned to the bird, watching him. His broken talon was held in a makeshift splint and his feathers, while cleaned of blood, were stained red with crimson. A few were out of place on his wing. Nyika's ears swiveled forward, her whiskers raising as her paw came out to stroke those askew.

Noonahootin's head twisted, his large eyes peering down at the wildcat in offense.

"Excuse me?" he hooted.

"Sorry," Nyika murmured, shrinking in her seat, but despite herself she continued to bat at his wing.

Noonahootin huffed and turned to walk away.

Some natural instinct sparked in the young wildcat at seeing his tail feathers drag behind him. Before she could stop herself she pounced, her tail swishing as she leapt at Noonahootin's backside.

When the owl reared up against her she cowered, one of his tail feathers caught in her teeth. He was going to kill her, she knew it. What had possessed her of such a stupid act?

Instead, a look of dawning came across the owl's features. Pulling a loose feather from his breast, he blew it towards the opening of the cave.

Drawing herself back, Nyika's butt wiggled and then she was off, chasing the feather awkwardly with three proper legs to run with. She tumbled on the stone floor, the feather drifting and dancing with her as she gave chase.

Noonahootin watched, amused by her antics.

"Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Nyika?" he said.

"Yes." The response was automatic and unreserved.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can see them," she said after a tumble, holding the feather against her body as her legs came up to kick. "I talk to them sometimes."

"Do they talk back?" Noonahootin's voice was skeptical but Nyika was too distracted to notice.

"Oh, aye. Some of them are really fun to talk to." She stopped her playing to lick her new toy.

"And those that are not?"

"They're scary. They don't like that they're dead, and they're vindictive against the living."

"So that's why we face a haunting."

Nyika nodded absentmindedly. The feather lay a few paces away. With a swish of her tail and wiggle of her rear, she pounced.

"Did your parents die in the landslide?"

"No," she said, unperturbed by the question. "I never had a mother or father."

The owl blinked. "Surely you must have."

"Well, yes, but they weren't cats. I don't remember my real parents; they died when I was very young. I was raised by a tribe of foxes."

"Ahh," Noonahootin said, a note of comprehension in his voice. "Were any of them seers?"

"Oh, aye. Vera was the best. She taught me everything I know."

"And did Vera share this ability of yours?"

"No, but she was still very good."

"What did she think of it?"

Nyika paused in her play, abandoning the feather to gnaw at her paw and clean her face. "She said I had a wonderful gift and that I was special."

"Do you agree?"

"Sometimes, no."

Noonahootin smiled as he walked to Nyika's side. Her paw came out, claws splayed as she swiped at his feathers. He bopped her on the head.

"Stop that," he said.

Nyika cowered, pulling her ears back with a whine.

He sighed. "Oh, all right. If you must. My good wing, please. I won't have you ruining my injured one more than it already is."

The cat grinned as she batted at him.

"I wonder," Noonahootin mused amidst her play, "if you have this power due to the manner of your birth."

Nyika hesitated to look at the old owl, her head tilted in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"Well, furred beasts are grown inside the body. Perhaps that grants you a more spiritual awareness. Closer to life, closer to death." He paused. "Did your mother die in childbirth?"

The cat's whiskers fell as she thought about the possibility. "I don't know."

She was silent for a time before she turned to meet his gaze. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"Do you think my mother died in childbirth?"

The owl's face was solemn as he draped a wing across her shoulders. "Come, child. I'll not have you stumbling in exhaustion tomorrow due to my lack of vigilance. I should wake another beast for second watch, else I share the same fate."

"I'll do it." As if on cue, Cookie's deep voice rumbled near the fire. Nyika's tail fluffed at the surprise.

"And risk you being exhausted, too? How long have you been awake, ferret?"

"Since the cat's screamin'," the champagne ferret said. He rose to saunter by the cave opening. "I'm not a kit. I can stay awake past my bedtime, Captain." He cleared his throat. "Ain't a bother, really. I'll wake Swirl-face if I get tired."

"Hmm, very well. Come, Miss Nyika, and let's move your friend to a more comfortable position."

Nyika looked towards the fire, spying Zevka with her head held low and shoulders slumped in a deep sleep. The pine marten would wake with a wicked neck ache if she slept the night through like that. Following Noonahootin's advice, she stirred Zevka from her slumber, persuading her to lay back next to Poko while Nyika lay against her other side. The owl perched himself next to the wildcat, draping a wing over her in a protective blanket of feathers.

Sandwiched between the two creatures, her mind for once at ease, it was not long before Nyika was back asleep.


	13. Campfire Colloquy

**13. Campfire Colloquy**

_Or, Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with an Owl (And a Toad)_

_A collaborative post by the top nine_

Pale morning light illuminated the persistent suffusion of gray clouds that hovered gloomily above the mountain range between Carrigul and Yew. Eight of the chilled survivors huddled close around a fire within the protective rock walls of their small cave, hidden in the side of the vast, snowy mountain. They warmed their paws, trying to stave off the cold, rubbing them in an attempt to stimulate their sluggish circulation. Some, like the pine marten, wildcat, and younger otter sat close to one another, sharing their body heat, while others seemed to be surrounded by an invisible "no beasts land" as were the toad and tattooed otter guard. The two bandaged ferrets were comfortably close, and the owl, largest of them all, sat with his feathers fluffed in the entrance to keep as much of the heat inside the cave as possible. The rat, the ninth member of the group, joined those encircling the fire after tossing an armful of scavenged wood onto the embers. She sat with a grunt between the otter, Vanessa, and the ferrets.

"Not much dry wood out there anymore. That's the last of the cart." Gashrock handed the hatchet she had borrowed back to the pine marten, Zevka.

"You didn't happen to find any salt, did you?" Nyika asked.

Gashrock scratched her head. "No, why? There ain't nuthin' to eat."

"Oh, no reason," Nyika said, sounding disappointed.

There was silence as the fire crackled and popped anew, then, sticking her nose out of her coat of fake hedgehog quills, the younger ferret, Poko, looked around.

"Well, I wish there was something to eat. I'm so hungry. And tired. Somebeast kept _cat_erwauling all night." She shot a glare at Nyika.

The wildcat seemed to shrink within herself, ears pinned back as her shoulders hunched in a meek apology. Her eyes were kept downcast towards the flames as she chewed self-consciously on a feather.

"Oh, leave her alone," said Zevka.

"Yes, Miss Nyika has had a rather rough night," said the owl captain, Noonahootin.

"And you think I _didn't_?" Poko griped. "Why is everybeast mollycoddling her like she's some _invalid_?"

"Please," said Nyika, "I'm sorry … I just had a nightmare last night. Nothing more. It was just a nightmare. I'm sorry if I disturbed anybeast."

"Last night was a nightmare for everybeast," said Poko, her tone low. Risk's paw rose up behind her head, hovering as if about to clip her ear, before it settled back on his stomach.

"There, there, Miss Nyika. We cannot help what is in our dreams," said Noonahootin comfortingly. "Only wake from them."

"'An' what was it aboot, Nyika?" Vanessa asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Nyika muttered.

"Och, come on, lassie," the otter leaned forward, her features alert. "Ah'm curious!"

"As am I," said the tattooed otter guard, Istvan, now joining in. "One can only marvel at the words the All Mother speaks to you in the throes of slumber."

Nyika huffed, hunching her shoulders as her tail twitched, ears pinned to the back of her head. There was a moment's silence before she began.

"I was here in the cave, alone. Nobeast else was around. The fire had died to embers. Behind me at the entrance I could see stars and the moon, but over there, at the back of the cave, it was just darkness."

Nyika pointed. Everybeast turned their head to look at the the rear of the cave. Almost unnoticed until now was a crack in the rock wall, a vertical chasm of pitch black.

"I don't know why, but I felt this overwhelming sense of terror. I couldn't do anything, couldn't move, couldn't speak—"

"—But you could scream," said Zevka.

Nyika nodded. "I think the dead were opening a portal into Hellgates … to let loose the condemned."

Poko started, as did a few others. There was an unmistakable red glow in the deepest reaches of the darkness within the crack. It was a mere flash, gone as soon as it registered in their minds.

Vanessa shook her head roughly.

"Rubbish an' poppycocks, ain't nothin' oot there, mates. 'Tis jus' the back of a cave!"

Poko tugged at the bigger ferret's kilt. Risk sighed and stood up.

"Where are you going?" said Zevka. "You don't seriously think—"

"I ain't thinkin' nothin' until I see somethin'," said Risk. "I'll be back."

"'Thinking nothing'," the marten scoffed, "Well, I'd be the first to suggest that…" She let her comment trail off at the silent request of everybeast's tense expressions.

They held their breaths, ears perked to the sound of the ferret's pawsteps. They grew too quiet to discern from the cracking of the burning wood.

"Cookie?" Gashrock called nervously.

There was no reply.

Then, distant and distorted, a gurgling moan erupted from the crack: "Grrraaaaa … OOROOOWWWOOGLE … ooooawwwgh…"

Poko leapt into Gashrock's lap, musking a little. The rat shoved her off in disgust. Nyika yelped and held her ears flat against her head, and the otters shared a look that was perhaps the first kindred thing between them apart from their species.

"Keep calm, keep calm!" Noonahootin shouted, his good wing spread wide while his gouged face twisted into forced dauntlessness. "We must stand firm! Hold the line!" He hooted frantically a few times, a warning noise that grew steadily in volume with every note.

"It … it could've _not_ been Cookie," said Gashrock. "I mean, I seen beasts go up against 'im in a bar brawl, right, an' they ne'er…"

"Something comes forth from the abyss!" Noonahootin was squinting, his normally wide eyes mere slits upon his face.

Risk returned, squeezing sideways through the crack once more. He was picking his nose, looking very disinterested in the whole ordeal.

"Ain't nothin' there," he said, admiring his pine-nettle-infused booger for a moment before flicking it away. "Stop scarin' the kit, cat."

"Och, but jus' what was that blitherin' noise then?" Vanessa blurted.

"Ah…? Oh. I guess that was me."

"What in Hellgates would you do that for?!" Zevka demanded.

The ferret grinned. "Thought it'd be good for a laugh. Lighten up!"

The side of the marten's mouth twitched slightly in a hint of a smile.

"Well, _I_ had a nightmare, too," Poko announced, straightening her back and raising her voice. "It was me, here in this very cave, strangling some wildcat until she couldn't _speak _anymore. Actually, it wasn't really a nightmare so much as a really good dream." She finished with a self-appreciative snicker.

"Hey!" said Zevka, giving Poko a stern glance. "Let's not make this any tougher on Nyika than it already is!"

"Yeah, yeah." Poko rolled her eyes. "Poor Nyika."

"We need to stay focused here. We're all trapped in this mess together; let's not make things worse."

"So how do you suggest we make things 'better?'" Poko asked with a distinct lack of contrition.

"Well, we need to take stock of our supplies, figure out how to get more of them, figure out how to keep the toad warm, and decide whether we're going to Carrigul or Yew." The marten leaned forward. "I don't know about all of you, but I was on this trip for a reason. My friend is in Carrigul, and I don't think he's staying there on his own accord. I need to get there and find him before something happens to him. I say we keep going."

"If you haven't been to Carrigul, it's a trek," said Gashrock, glancing at Risk and then back to the fire. "And that's _with_ a decent stock of food and movin' fast cause yer not all torn up. I wouldn't chance it."

"The pine marten is, hrrf, right," said Noonahootin. The owl rumbled for a moment, as if in thought, before he continued. "First and foremost, we must take stock of our supplies. Warm clothes, medicine and bandages, tools, and—"

_HRRK. CHIIIK. HUURRRRRGUCK!_

Noonahootin started sputtering, reeling back and stretching his neck out, talons grinding into the cave floor. He choked for what seemed like a solid few minutes until finally, something small, round, black, and fuzzy came shooting out of his beak and into the fire. Everybeast flinched at the sudden shower of sparks and embers.

"Ahem. Food is a high priority," he continued nonchalantly, brushing his breast feathers off. "We all of us need to eat."

"… _Whut_ was _that_?" Gashrock squinted suspiciously up at the owl from across the fire, her pointed features glowing orange and sinister in the dancing light.

"My last meal," Noonahootin smiled, "Come back to haunt me." He chuckled, leaning over to nudge Nyika with his wing. She did not share the humor and merely moped harder. He sighed, deflating.

"Eeeeiw—it's a _skull_!" Poko jabbed a claw toward the fire where the gob of fur had burned away to reveal a hollow-eyed skull with long rodent's incisors. The ferret gave Gashrock a significant look, then grimaced at Noonahootin. The rat, however, seemed unfazed.

"You'd better not be wastin' so much of yer food, we don't have enough for that…"

"Hrrr-hmm! All owls cough up pellets," he explained politely, eyes fixed on Poko. "A pellet is what remains of our meals after eating."

"Isn't it supposed to come out the _other_ end?" Poko's lip curled in disgust.

Risk barked a laugh at this.

Noonahootin simply shrugged. His head swiveled to each and every one of the small assembly as he tapped a talon in a contemplative manner. "We may not be able to go back for some time, until that damnable white heathen takes her leave of the territory. We either leave for Yew now or we can stay here, nursing our wounds in the warmth of this cave while a scavenging party finds us supplies. Once my wing is good enough to get me to Yew on the winds, I will send help."

Everybeast was silent, contemplating, perhaps, the role they would play in this plan. Noonahootin took a deep breath.

"Or we press on to Carrigul. What Missus Gashrock says is true; the journey is long, it is hard, and we are sorely under-supplied. I cannot recommend this endeavor. We are too outmatched. If some of you wish to leave and head forward, know that your chances of getting to your destination are slim. I suggest we all stay together."

"We have more chance of reaching Carrigul alive than we do of staying here."

It was the toad, Goragula, whom they knew as Greenfleck. Until now he had been watching them in silence, though any glances cast his way would have revealed that he had been growing steadily more irate with their fruitless prattle. He gestured at Noonahootin's bad wing.

"You don't know how long it will take your wing to heal. It could be days, or weeks. Maybe it will get worse. Winter's a harsh mistress. Until then, are we supposed to sit in this cave, steadily running out of food and water? It would be better to move onwards, where we'd at least have the forest to scavenge from."

"May as well go back to Yew, then," said Risk.

Goragula gave an impatient grunt. "It's too open. That owl will be able to see us from miles away."

"Aye, an' she'd _see_ us leavin' her domain. Unless she's plain mad, she'd have no reason to attack us. We left plenty of … food out there for her to have taken her fill by now. For all we know, she was attackin' the Captain here because he's competition for all that. Or mayhap it's just territorial. Females are odd." The ferret looked about. "Pardonin' present company."

"Thanks, Risk," Zevka drawled.

Goragula grunted again.

"At any rate, we need to actually look for supplies instead of sitting here talking about them."

Risk nodded. "Aye. Definitely. If there's anything buried out there we need to find it, harfang or no." The burly ferret rose to his feet, "I'll go. An' Greenflick … since you're so interested an' we make such a great team, you best come too. You're probably the finest digger out of the lot of us—and not half bad at savin' your own scaly hide. If that damnable white owl comes lookin' for us you can live to tell everybeast how I went down fightin'."

"Lizards have scales, you ignorant halfwit," Goragula said.

"Lizard. Frog. Same difference. You comin' or not?"

"That was the idea." The toad stood up.

"I shall accompany you as a lookout," announced Noonahootin. "My wing may not be in the best of shape, but I can at least fly to a high branch and set up a post there."

The ferret and toad grunted their assent.

"I shall join you as well," said Istvan, making to stand.

"No!" Two discouraging voices shouted simultaneously. Noonahootin and Vanessa had both reacted at once.

The otter continued her protest. "Ye'll no' be any use oot there—ye'd only be slowin' 'em doon, cuttin' ev'ry throat ye coom across."

Istvan looked to his senior officer, plainly ignoring Vanessa's accusation.

Noonahootin shook his head, "Not this time, Corporal. I need you and Guardsbeast Vanessa to stay and defend those who remain here. _You_ are the main force. _We_, on the other claw, are but a small scouting party."

The tattooed otter settled back on the floor, albeit with some disgruntlement.

"I might join you later." Zevka nodded at the trio. "In the meantime, give us a shout if you need any help."

"If you hear me shout, I'm already dead," said Risk, flashing her a winsome wink. "In which case, Nyika gets my knife. Poko gets my hat."

"Why does _she_ get the knife?" Poko pouted.

Her question was only answered by the chill breeze that rolled in as Noonahootin's bulk left the entrance to the cave. Risk and Goragula climbed down after him. The remaining six beasts shivered.

* * *

Poko licked her lips, casting a look around, as if searching for something. She felt her chest up and down until she found a lump in her inner pocket and reached in, pulling out a small velvet case. Carefully she parted the case at the hinges, revealing her tiny little pipe and striker set. She drew a tiny pouch from another inner pocket and pinched out some brown tobacco, stuffing it carefully into the small, intricately carved porcelain bowl.

Istvan leaned forward and stared at the pipe as if he did not comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

"You are not actually intending to smoke that, I hope."

The ferret looked up, surprised, holding the pipe between her knees, paws freezing mid-air with the little pyrite and quartz strikers.

"Wha? Why—what's it to _you_?"

"Forcing toxic smoke in to your body? You are poisoning the essence of the All-Mother within you; corrupting the very blood that flows through your veins."

"Where'dja hear that mumbo jumbo? It's just a little tobacco—nothing' toxic." She struck the two pieces together over the bowl a couple of times.

"May I?" Nyika perked up at the tap of the strikers.

"Not you, too." Istvan gave a disapproving look.

The wildcat shrugged. "Everybeast dies. Might as well take the simple pleasures while you can. Besides, it helps soothe my nerves." She gave the young ferret a hopeful look.

Poko looked insulted at the request. "No, you cannot." Evidently it was a one-ferret pipe. The wildcat seemed to melt away after that.

"A searat told me it was bad luck," said Gashrock.

"My great grampapa smoked all his life and he lived to be really old. That doesn't sound so unlucky to me!" Poko sucked at the end as a few sparks fell into the bowl.

"Yeah, well, how big was he ever?" Gashrock asked, watching the trail of smoke.

"I'm not one to base my life decisions on a giant invisible entity that nobeast can see," said Zevka, "but I just can't help thinking of this one thing I saw once: When Mekad—the friend in Carrigul—and I were in the horde, we had a building catch fire. Fourteen beasts died, only two of burns. The others all breathed in too much smoke. I watched a healer cut into one of the ones killed by smoke—his lungs were not pretty."

"Yeah, but that's like … bad black smoke. This is _to-bac-co_. Beasts have smoked it for years." She shrugged and took a puff, smiling. A few feet away, Gashrock tried to turn away from the smell of smoke with some agitation.

"Can you breathe it?" demanded Istvan, beginning to rise from the floor. "It strangles you from the inside, choking the very life of the All-Mother out of you. Your grandfather may have lived long, but he will not have had a happy afterlife."

Zevka cut in. "And you know this, how? We don't know anything about Poko's grandfather. He could have been a great beast, or an awful one, or just one of those beasts who isn't very good or very bad."

"'Course I can breath it. That's the whole idea! Sounds like you never got past the first try," said Poko knowingly. "Everybeast chokes and coughs at their first try, but then you're alright after that."

"Also, why would an earth goddess make a plant that sends you to Hellgates?" The pine marten continued. "What's the point?"

"Why should she not? It is up to us to choose to indulge in it or not."

Poko seemed to relax as the smoke curled up through her nostrils and wafted up to the cave ceiling. She sat with her legs crossed, elbows resting against them and watched the two beasts debate meditatively. Suddenly she straightened, as if just hearing Zevka's earlier remark.

"Wait—Zevka, you were in a _horde_?" She squinted at the pine marten, her mouth turning up in a smirk.

""Yes, for years. Mekad and I met at Stevat Academy—this nice little boarding school for vermin kits. Very old fashioned sort of place, too—fencing and spear-fighting classes by torchlight every night, that sort of thing. His uncle Stekpo had two things Mekad needed: a horde, and a lack of heirs. Mekad didn't really have anyplace else to go, and I went with him."

"Swords and spear-fighting? Keen!" Poko's eyes danced at the thought.

Vanessa looked vaguely troubled as she glanced at Zevka, but her voice was still nonchalant.

"Ah dinnae know ye'd been in a horde…"

"It makes so much sense. That's where she learned to value the lives of beasts so little." Istvan remarked with some antipathy.

"Little like me?" The small ferret chirped mischievously.

"Ach, leave 'er alone," said Vanessa, defending her friend, "Ye left the horde, right Zevka?" The end of her sentence rose with a hopeful note.

"Weeeellllll … I'm not in it right now, am I? And I'll not have you thinking this was the kind of horde that you grew up hearing stories about! We didn't have slaves and we weren't always killing each other off for power. Stekpo's mum and dad conquered a bunch of stuff when Stekpo was a kit. When Stekpo grew up, they gave him part of their holdings."

"Oh aye, right ye are," said Vanessa, still looking perturbed.

"You make it sound so _civilized_," the tattooed otter sneered, "but it's all about killing beasts, in the end. Did you make sure those slaughtered in the wars were 'evil'? Did you spare the 'good'? You think yourself so superior to me, but I do not hide behind a guise of imaginary distinctions."

Zevka's eyes narrowed further. "Yes, I've killed beasts, but anybeast I've killed had already decided to kill me, or somebeast I care about. I don't go around chopping beasts any time I think they've violated the edicts of my imaginary friend."

"Oooooh…" Somebeast voiced a verbal wince at the obvious baiting. The beasts encircling the fire watched to see Istvan's reaction to the pine marten's inciting return. The otter seemed affronted, but remained controlled.

"And why do you think yourself so high and mighty that your very life is sacred? You think that because these beasts attack you that makes them 'evil', but in their own mind they are doing a great good. Without an objective source of morality, it inevitably spirals down into chaos, with every beast allowed to attack the others for the pettiest of reasons. The Mother is the giver of life, and it is by her will and her will alone that it should be taken."

"Oh? How convenient that the 'objective source of morality' that we're all supposed to follow is one where you're the beast in charge. I may be ambitious, but at least I'm honest with myself about it. I don't go around pretending that beasts are under divine obligation to do what I tell them to. And I didn't say anything about evil. Any living thing that wants to stay that way defends itself."

"I am not in charge, I simply follow the teachings of the High Priestess. The system would be unfair if I expected you all to do what I myself would or could not, but I have lived according to the will of the Mother all my life. And so should you."

"Oy, hold on," Gashrock cut in. "Wotsit, an 'objective source of more-ality'? Where d'you get one? Is it bigger than a breadbox? Cheaper than a bottle of grog?"

"Grog—blech!" Zevka pulled a face, then straightened up, folded her arms, and gazed sternly down her muzzle at Gashrock, adopting a rather officious-sounding voice. "Now that, venal sinner, is a true abomination against all that is sacred!"

"At least on grog, we can agree." Istvan wrinkled his muzzle, equally disgusted.

Vanessa snickered at Zevka's acting. "Ach, 'tis nae sae bad. Though Ah prefer ale bah a long shot."

"I could go for a bottle of grog," Nyika said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.

"How do you figure that out, though?" Gashrock asked. "It tastes good. Or do you lot just have more expensive drinks?"

"Hey, I'm a pine marten. We're _expected_ to like damson wine," said Zevka sagely.

"You ain't expected to by _everybeast_, though." Gashrock nodded at Istvan, awaiting his reasoning. He obliged.

"Alcohol is a poison to the blood. I do not sully the Mother's handiwork with it."

"Ugh … is _everything_ fun poison to you?" Poko rolled her eyes through a thin haze of smoke swirling about her head.

Istvan stood up and spread his paws wide.

"You say that everything fun is poison, but that only tells me that you are inexperienced with the true joy that comes in the embrace of the Mother. Love, duty, and life. That is what we revel in."

"Hey, you make it sound like _all_ we do is carouse! I'm all about a good book every now and then—and, uh, using little figurines to re-enact the battles in them." Zevka glanced around in the sustained silence. "Nobeast else does that but me?"

"Then keep those delights, but cast off that which brings ruin on to the Mother's gift."

"Good books ain't delightin'," said Gashrock. "Good books are rubbish. Bad books are delightin'."

Zeka's ear twitched. She looked like she wanted to say something, but had thought better of it.

"I never did get to read any books…" Poko sighed. "But my Papa told lots of great stories!"

"I remember yer Papa's stories," Gashrock nodded. "They were great."

"The Invariably Invincible Vincent McTaggart versus the Twelve Seers!" Poko crowed happily.

"I haven't heard that one in a long time!" Zevka grinned at the little ferret.

"What's it about?" Vanessa asked.

Poko began to jabber excitedly.

"It's about an invincible otter who kills whole armies and can't be killed. The great Lord of the Horde gathers together his twelve best advisers and asks each one for their advice on how to kill 'im, and they all come up with plans (like drownin' an starvin' and disease), but they all fail and get killed until the last one!"

"Was this last adviser a pine marten?"

"Oh," the ferret frowned apologetically at Zevka. "No, sorry—she was an otter. She killed him by breaking his heart. Didn't you say you'd heard it before?"

"Yeah … I forgot that bit."

"My Papa told it great. He was the best storyteller…" Poko's mouth quivered and she fell silent. She tapped the ashes from her pipe and put it away after polishing it lovingly with her sleeve. After that, the ferret seemed to be having trouble breathing. She lurched away several paces and curled up behind a rock, disappearing once again into her hedgehog coat.

Zevka, witnessing this obvious distress, went to check on her.

Gashrock spat into the fire.

"Sure hope those three find some pro-vi-shuns soon. Never got a chance to eat ruddy lunch yesterday, let alone supper."


	14. For the Birds

**14. For the Birds**

_By: Noonahootin_

The morning bore a bitter air that stung the nose and eyes of the three beasts who shuffled out of the cave, their fellow survivors of the lost caravan expedition peering out from the darkness behind them. The once warm fire had since burnt away to glowing embers amidst a hot pile of coals, and so when the sun's grey light hit their eyes, the ferret, toad, and owl all blinked hastily, barely adjusting to the bright glare off the mountain snow.

"Hrph! Right! Watch your steps, laddies, and if you feel the earth begin to move..." Noonahootin began, but then trailed off. Frankly, he had no idea what would happen if the mountain decided to shake and throw the earth-walkers down once more; he wouldn't be able to fly hastily after any beast and snatch them from the air, what with his wing being torn up from the previous day.

"Kiss yer tail good-bye, aye!" Cookie offered helpfully while he crawled over a cracked and snow-covered boulder.

"Well, I suppose," Noonahootin shrugged, rolling his shoulders, trying to see just how crippled his wing truly was that morning. He winced uncomfortably, sucking in a sharp breath and then clucking his tongue in disapproval. "I _was_ going to ask you to try not to scream. Don't want to worry the others!"

"But never mind ourselves," Greenfleck murmured languidly, hopping out of the cold snow and causing a great spray of white flakes to explode from where his powerful hind legs had kicked off the ground. The owl held up his wings to block the snow from hitting him, frowning disapprovingly at the swamp creature.

"Remember, lads, we're here for food, clothes, medical supplies, wood...and keep a sharp eye out for anyone who might be left alive," Noonahootin stated solemnly.

As the three began to walk along a steep makeshift path, following the eight sets of shallow prints left from the night before, Noonahootin lifted each foot as high as he could, and only set his talons down long enough to push off and take his next step. The owl had since rediscovered just how much he detested _walking_, a fact that was only reinforced by his broken talon stiff inside its sling. Courtesy of Gashrock's magic mending skills and her bright idea to use a strip of the Yew scout's uniform blue poncho to bind his talon, Noonahootin's toe would heal, but having lost the flexibility in one of his feet made working his way through the deep and heavy snow very frustrating. Additionally, the mountain pass' well-established destructive abilities were looming in the back of his mind, making Noonahootin visibly nervous. His round head was constantly swiveling up, down, and side to side to ensure he did not miss a single thing happening around him.

Circling the sky near where the caravan had fallen were the silhouettes of black birds flying, their loud squawks and caws echoing amongst the rocky shield of the mountain.

"Here comes trouble..." Greenfleck suddenly declared, stalling mid-hop and causing Noonahootin and Cookie to raise their heads. The owl scowled very deeply and let a deep, rumbling grumble from his chest. He then clacked his beak together sharply several times.

"Ruddy crows."

All three beasts stood solemnly for a moment at the edge of a sharp incline, considering the craggy scar left on the mountain side. Beneath them, the ruins of the mountain rested in piles of broken and snapped trees, crumbling rocks, and close-knit parties of oily black crows cackling amongst themselves.

"Are they..." Greenfleck's lips pulled back in momentary disgust.

"Aye," Cookie grunted gravely, resting a paw upon the knife tucked into his belt. "Eatin' breakfast.

"Fiends!" Noonahootin barked, heaving a breath in and then squealing out a keening wail that sounded more akin to one of Nyika's screams than to the cry of an owl. He spread his wings and, momentarily forgetting his pain in his anger, leapt from the rocky ledge, gliding down the mountain and landing amongst the murder of crows.

"BACK! GET BACK, I SAY!" Noonahootin boomed, clacking his beak loudly and threatening the crows with the talons upon his good foot, splaying the wickedly curved claws wide to show the other birds just how sharp he kept them. The crows leaped back from their meal with their wings open, squawking and prancing from foot to foot in rage. Their angry eyes flashed and they clacked their own beaks, but none dared move toward the corpse again.

"CWAH! CWAH! Wait up a tic, CWAH!" one of the crows, marginally larger than the rest, cawed defensively, shuffling forward and back again as though he couldn't make up his mind which direction he wanted to go. "Finders keepers! It's the LAR of de woods! CWAH! You know dis, birdie gent!"

"DON'T YO-_HOO_ 'LAW OF THE WOODS' _ME_, CROW! These ones are from Yew, and no scavenger will be disrespecting them so!" Captain Noonahootin hissed, leaning far forward so than his chest practically touched the ground. The owl flared his wings upon his back, splaying each of his tail feathers into a large fan, and lifted every feather upon his body. Easily outclassing the crows for sizable appearances, the scout hopped forward, reaching out with his talons.

"'E's a cripple!" one the smaller birds at the front of the flock crowed, and the black birds all began laughing, pointing wings at the old owl as though he suddenly had become a joke. Screeching, Noonahootin charged forward, limping obviously but still f ast enough to catch the small crow who mocked him, the screaming bird's friends climbing over each other in order to get away from the larger, more dangerous bird.

The crow's eyes were wide with fear, and then suddenly Noonahootin was knocked off the filthy little cretin by two, then three more of the wretches' brethren beating at the owl with their heavy wings. A fourth crow joined in, and as hard as Noonahootin swung his good wing, bucked, and kicked, he could not free himself from the mob attacking him. One of the damnable crows had discovered the wound upon his shoulder and dug their beak in, pecking furiously at the broken flesh and eliciting an alarmed squeal from the Yew guard.

"CRAA-CRAA! Dere's more! 'E brought a friend! A ferret friend! 'N a froggy! CWAH!"

The crows took off in a flutter of wing beats and sharp caws, black feathers floating loftily down from where they were lost in mid retreat.

"Cowards! Get back here!" Cookie was shouting, chasing the largest crow down and delivering a swift kick to the craggy bird's tail feathers as the crow tried to take off. The bird tripped over his own feet trying to escape, beating his wings and cawing crossly until he finally managed to take to the air.

"Ah...you...ah, alright, cap'n?" Cookie asked as he approached Noonahootin, rubbing the back of his neck. The owl was on his back, legs in the air as he tried to kick himself onto his belly. At last managing to stand, Noonahootin brushed himself off, spitting curses at the crows who had flocked just a short distance down the mountain.

"HRPH! Bastards, the lot of them! How _dare_ they?! The Yew Guard keep this forest safe for them and _this_ is how the repay us?!" Angrily, the owl flung his wing in the direction of the hare that the crows had been eating. The poor thing's eyes had been pecked clean out of his skull, leaving empty, bloody sockets to stare eternally at the sky. The hare had also been ripped apart from the wound in his stomach, and Noonahootin sighed softly as he tugged the lodged sword out.

"That was Guardsbeast Hoffington. He was a good lad." Noonahootin inspected the blade, bent in the middle from its fall down the mountain. It must have gotten stuck and curved around Hoffington's ribs. "Not terribly skilled with this, but enthusiastic. He will be missed. His sword will be missed."

The owl tossed the sword away, sadly lowering his head as he realized just how many condolence notes would have to be delivered upon his return to Yew.

"Ah, well, least he ain't sufferin' no more," Cookie offered helpfully, toeing at the sword before deciding it was useless to him.

"You should not have gone after those crows," Greenfleck, silent until then, suddenly reprimanded the owl scout. "Now your wing is worse than it was before, and they know you're hurt."

"Indeed," Noonahootin simply said. "Not as...not as young as I used to be. Well, if I had my sons or my daughters here, those fiends wouldn't have stood a chance. We could have taken the whole murder, the lot of them! HA-haha, oh yes indeed."

As the owl began to strut by his comrades and continue to pick his way down the mountain, Greenfleck looked off to the side, suddenly very interested in something only he had spotted. The toad's eyes narrowed.

"You're a father, then?" Cookie asked, following after the owl. "Didn't know owls, ah, kept families."

"Yes, a father of four! My eldest son, Prosecutes, _he_ was a warrior! Never had there been a faster flier, not in the entire world! He even outgrew his mother, haha! Smart lad, strong lad. He would have taken on anyone if they challenged the way of the Yew Guard! My eldest daughter, Venia, she too was a warrior. Keen scrapper she was," Noonahootin said fondly, glowing as he spoke about his children. "Prosecutes even gave his life for the Yew Guard!"

"He died? Pros..Pros-ick-yoot-ees?" Cookie asked, stumbling over the name but bravely venturing forth.

"Yes," Noonahootin said, his chest puffing up in immense pride as he spoke. "Died in battle! Glorious, really! Took a spear right through his chest. Slew four more before drawing his last. I can only hope to go that way, in the midst of a fierce assault, engaging the enemy, blood boiling, spirits alight! Aaah, yes," the owl sighed happily. "Better than rotting away from age."

"Well, I don't know about that." Cookie said, shrugging. "A lot to be said for havin' a clean casket. It's all glory an' guts for you, but it's beasts like me an' Gashy who end up scrapin' your hide off the ground days later, if not crows an' their lot desecratin' things."

The two had reached the bottom of the mountain, where the destruction was most prevalent. Bodies were strewn about, some crushed under trees or boulders, others lying broken in the snow. The only prints were those of the crows, and the two beasts looked on in concealed disgust at each corpse.

"See what I'm saying? They always go fer the eyes first," Cookie muttered unhappily, shaking his head and clucking his teeth.

"Indeed. It is the easiest part to get to," Noonahootin confirmed, turning his head away and pretending to look for supplies. Instead, he found something missing.

"Where did Greenfleck go?" Noonahootin sighed, his tone immensely annoyed. Cookie looked around, checking behind a smashed cart, and shrugged when the toad wasn't found.

Above them, back at the ledge where they had been chased from, the crows had grown louder, and now their noise was almost deafening. The black birds were cackling and screeching as they tore something apart, and a bloody, light blue Yew jacket was tossed aside. The coat landed wetly in front of Noonahootin and Cookie.

They stared at the jacket for a full minute before each of their heads turned slowly towards each other. Cookie swallowed. Noonahootin winced.

"You don't think-"

"I...he could be anywhere."

"Aye. But just in case..." Cookie took a deep breath in and screamed out the toad's name, waiting a moment before calling for the missing member of their party again.

They sat in silence, waiting with baited breath. Nothing.

"Ahh," Cookie said, again rubbing at the back of his neck. "I said it right, didn't I? Fleck, I said. Definitely said Fleck that time."

"Keep moving," Noonahootin grunted, frowning. "Something isn't right..."

The owl was looking over the grisly sight of where mostly everyone and everything had crashed down and rested. The road's ruins were spattered with blood in some places, and bodies had been dragged in every direction from the crows, the red paths creating flowery patterns in the snow.

"What do you see?" Noonahootin asked quietly, and Cookie shrugged, looking around the destruction. The owl strode forward, picking at branches and tossing them to the side to see who had been buried beneath.

"I don't remember every beast bein' nekked," Cookie observed, peering down at a dormouse on its belly, eyeless face twisted in horror. "Save those rats I got to. Didn't have time to loot anyone else after that."

"No, nor do I remember any Yew guard being unarmed," Noonahootin said contemplatively, using his talons to delicately turn the face of a squirrel with a mean looking scar across one empty socket. "This was Lieutenant Ruffbrush. He was rather well known for carrying eight daggers, four on each side."

"Ain't a blade to be seen, or any trousers for that matter," the ferret sniggered, but turned away sheepishly at Noonahootin's glare and began to poke at a dead shrew."

"Clothes gone, weapons gone...I bet there isn't a crumb to be found," the owl clucked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Ain't the crows that robbed 'em all. Birds ain't built for coats an' socks. Can't carry a sword, neither." Cookie sidled up beside Noonahootin as the scout began climbing up a rock not far from a stick that had been plunged into the ground.

"Ah, careful were you stand, Captain. Poko's parents are right there. Least they ought to..."

"Hm?" Noonahootin looked down from atop the boulder, noticing the marker upon the ground's lumpy surface. "Oh, yes. Sorry."

From his perch, Noonahootin looked around without ever turning his body, amber eyes searching the wreck sight for any sign of movement. The valley was still aside from the crows on the ledge, and nothing could be heard above the cawing caterwaul. Each corpse the owl could see was stripped clean of its clothes, jewellery, and there were no weapons to be seen. Below, Cookie was investigating the bodies up close, making his way from one to the next.

"There are more than there were last night," the owl said, and Cookie nodded.

"Some of 'em have been dug up."

"AHAH!" the owl hooted and hopped from the rock, stumbling a little upon his sore foot. "Those damnable moles! I bet they, too, sought to seize some profit from this tragedy! They've been digging up corpses and looting everything they can find!"

"I dunno... moles dig through dirt, underground an' all. Some of these tunnels are right through snow. Reminds me of how stoats go about, farther north. Or weasels."

"But not ferrets?" Noonahootin smugly teased, cocking a brow. Cookie scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Ever see a ferret tunnelin'? We ain't the most gracious of creatures. No way ferrets would've done all this without knockin' half the place down after themselves. Besides, weren't enough of us on the caravan," the champagne ferret said defensively. "But there's a tribe of stoats in the woods around here, you know of 'em?"

"Indeed. They call themselves the 'Hollow Bone Gang'," Noonahootin confirmed. "Ill-bred pack of half-wits."

"Right. They've probably been muckin' about down here, diggin' in the snow for goodies they couldn't get to on top."

"The moles have been in the area; I have seen them myself. You _really_ believe stoats did all this...this pillaging?" Nonahootina asked sceptically. Cookie merely shrugged, turning around.

"Vermin is vermin, woodlanders ain't like that from what I seen. Anyway, no point in freezin' down here forever," Cookie said, strolling back up the path he had come down on. "Maybe them crows know a thing or two about who robbed the place."

Noonahootin grumbled bitterly, a vile taste rising in his throat as he thought about having to ask the crows for any kind of assistance. The oily blighters would probably lie their beaks off anyways, and so the owl considered it a complete waste of time. However, Cookie was already half way back up to the ledge where the crows were feasting on Hoffington, and so Noonahootin gingerly began scaling the snowy rocks.

By the time he reached Cookie, the crows had already taken off at the sight of the ferret and he was inspecting a nearby cart. A few boards had been pried off, and the ferret casually stuck his head into the hole in the wagon's side, his tail swishing back and forth as he rummaged about in the darkness. Noonahootin occupied himself by pushing Hoffington's body over, the poor hare tearing at the hips with the sickening noise of ripping flesh and cracking bones. Flinching, the owl took a step back, staring at the eyeless corpse of the young buck who had previously been under his command. The hare's throat was missing, as was the vast majority of the fur around his shoulders and belly, and a foul stench was erupting out of the gaping cavity in his belly. Noonahootin scooped a pile of snow upon the hare with his good wing, muttering to himself as he began covering the former soldier.

"I promise, Guardsbeast, I will tell your mother personally. I'll tell her you passed painlessly. She needn't know about...that," the owl swore, filling the hare's belly with snow. Daintily, the owl finished covering Hoffington just in time to hear the ferret give a shout.

"Oy, there's a tunnel in here!" Cookie hollered, and Noonahootin hastily joined the ferret's side. Amber eyes peered down into darkness; sure enough, a smooth, round tunnel tapered off from beneath the cart that smelt strongly of wet mustelid. Noonahootin hummed, deep in thought. Perhaps stoats _were_ to blame, but the tunnel was a bit small and had no visible entrance point around the cart.

"Moles," Noonahootin concluded, and Cookie gave a snort of irritation.

"Oh, come on, Captain! What've you got against moles? You can't seriously-"

"I can and I do-HOO!" the owl huffed, drawing himself up and adding confidently, "If you'd like to go down and check for yourself, I'll bet you a flask of gin you'll find moles!"

"You got a flask of gin on you, then?" Cookie asked in mock suspicion.

"As a matter of fact," the owl muttered, sitting down heavily in the snow and lifting a claw to rummage around in a pocket sewn into his woven, Yew-issue poncho. A hoot of success, and the owl pulled out a silver flask with a bouquet of flowers embellishing the front. It sloshed just a little and Cookie leaned forward in interest.

"Saving it for a special occasion, eh, Captain?" the ferret asked.

"Saving it to fight infections, as it were," Noonahootin retorted shortly, skillfully unscrewing the flask's cap with his talons. "My wing and face, mostly. That little ferret lass back in the cave has a rather frightening toe injury, as well."

"An' I'd got half a pine tree through my gut. May need somethin' like it sooner than Poko. An' what else you got in there?" the ferret asked, sniffing at the gin and grinning despite himself.

"Well, there's not much. Just a ration of meat," Noonahootin said slowly as he returned the cover to the flask, fully expecting Cookie to accuse him of being selfish. "I've been keeping my mouth shut about that as it's...well, it's dried and salted _rat_ meat. I only have three strips of it left, but I doubt Missus Gashrock would be pleased to know I was carrying around her kin for a snack."

"Probably no worse'n what I've boiled up for the Players last week, but best keep all that quiet, right," Cookie agreed. "If it keeps you from eatin' us, then you can keep it to yourself. Ain't no complaints from me."

"Good, good. Here; you might as well have some of this while it lasts." Noonahootin extended the flask towards Cookie, holding the gin lightly between two wicked hooks. The ferret gingerly accepted the flask and dabbed some upon his stomach wound with his paw. When he went to hand the flask back, Cookie's eyed the owl's shoulder wound wearily. "Put some of this on there already?"

"Naturally, yes; I wouldn't dare not tend to my wing. Nothing to worry about!" the owl chuckled, screwing the cap back on with practiced ease and tucking the flask into its pocket. "Now, about this tunnel!" The owl's voice became business like in tone, his face stern and focused. "If you want to go exploring, I won't be able to go in after you; too many feathers. So, if you run into trouble, I shan't be able help you. You'll be on your own, and that doesn't bode well in light of the circumstances."

"I'll get Zevka to come with me, then. She can dig, I'm sure... an' go first, of course. Hellgates, maybe Greenfleck went down there to get away from the crows, the coward," Cookie said.

"That's the spirit!" Noonahootin hooted. "Right! Back to the cave. We have much to report."

The ferret and owl once again made their way up the mountain from the ledge, Noonahootin hissing almost every step he took as his broken talon stung and sent sharp snaps of pain up his leg. Cookie had offered to help the scout, but the proud owl had refused, chortling as he did. Noonahootin's posture became shy, soon after, and his face a mask of contemplation.

"If you wouldn't mind, Mister Cookie, I, ah...well, I shall stay behind with the others this time. My wing, you see..." The owl sheepishly raised his wounded appendage, grimacing as he did. The ferret patted Noonahootin on the wing a little harder than was necessary.

"Ah, no worries, Captain! Not like I'd be blind without a lookout," the ferret said brightly as he heaved himself back onto what remained of the road. Together they walked back into the cave, Cookie loudly announcing their return. Behind him, the owl considered the ferret momentarily before nodding to himself. Perhaps the ferret wasn't just a gypsy fool after all. Slowly, the captain trudged forward to join the other survivors.

"What'd you bring us?" Poko asked enthusiastically, bounding up to her fellow Dewhurst player and the Yew scout. When Cookie spread his empty arms wide for all to see, a groan of disappointment and anger rose up from the group.

"You brought back nothing? _Nothing_? You couldn't even find a coat to wear?" Zevka chided, approaching the two rather aggressively. "Some scout _you_ are, bird!"

"I'll have you know, _all_ of you," Noonahootin began, raising himself high above the pine marten, "That those moles from last night had gotten to the wreckage before we could get back! They've stolen everything." He stared right at Zevka, glaring at her with his piercing eyes. "Even the coats. That unfortunate news was discovered after the ruddy _crows_ attacked us. Dirty little terrors are eating up everyb-…" the owl paused, his eyes flickering to Poko momentarily. "Every_thing_ they can find. Left us nothing, really."

"Where's Greenfleck?" Vanessa piped up, saluting Noonahootin as she approached, keen to hear what had happened.

"Well, we, ah," the owl stumbled a bit, shifting his weight from one side to the other.

"He stayed back. Said he wanted to keep lookin'," Cookie interrupted, lying nonchalantly for the owl. Nobody would have to take the blame when the toad was found dead, or never found at all. Gratefully, Noonahootin shuffled to the back of the cave, tossing a few sticks into the embers and fanning it with his good wing. Cookie dumped the wood he had carried back beside the small flames, grunting as he leaned back and put his paws upon his pained lower back.

"I'm gonna head back to check out a hole, but I need some fresh eyes," the ferret declared, "The Captain's a wee bit tuckered out from our battle with the crows, an' sure as Hellgates ain't gonna fit where we're goin'."

"_I'll_ go," Zevka said crossly, eyeing Noonahootin and Cookie distastefully. "Take a look to see just how bad these crows are that you came back as soon as you did."

"I might as well go too," Gashrock offered, standing up from where she had been stitching a tear in her dress hem. "Beats bein' cooped up in a cold cave all day."

"Very well," Noonahootin said lightly from where he crouched. Nyika had crawled over and was sitting beside him, curled up in the shield of his stretched-out wing. The owl looked down at the cat, a peculiar look of peace in his eyes as he let her bat at a pinfeather. "Be back before dark."

The second scavenging party turned to go, buttoning up their clothes and rubbing their paws together in anticipation of the cold.

"Cookie," Noonahootin suddenly called to Cookie, and the ferret turned around, a brow cocked in curiosity.

"Be careful." It was all the owl could offer, but it was enough, and Cookie waved a fair-well before turning his back and disappearing out of the cave.


	15. Hots On For Nowhere

**15. Hots On For Nowhere**

_By: Risk_

"Cor, this is steep. You climbed up all this with a hole in yer gut, Cookie? Ain't half imp-ressive. Ain't half mad, too."

"Hole was nothin', Gashy. Was the toad what was the worst of it."

They were wriggling down the slope, back to where Risk had first woken up and found Greenfleck. It had not been part of the initial plan, that being to investigate the tunnel Risk had found on a higher ledge, but they'd collectively agreed it was worth a try. He only wished he had remembered the ruddy thing earlier. It was too risky to leave Gashrock alone with the crows and who knew what else prowling above and below ground, and the rat was slowing them down.

"Greenfleck's not that bad," said Zevka.

"Ever fought a toad, Zevka?"

"No, I haven't. But I've read-"

"Ever been in a toad pit?"

"No... I take it that you have?"

"Not myself. I've hauled beasts out of 'em, though. You don't forget the stink. You just don't."

"I haven't noticed any smell."

"Nah, Greenflick don't stink. He's somehow civilized himself. Figured out what rain's for, maybe. But I can't look at him and not remember. Hold up- Gashy?"

The rat was labouring, rubbing at her leg every other step. "Ain't nothin', Cookie. Pay no mind. I'll be down there one way or another."

Risk nodded and, after having a bit of a breather himself, continued on. Sliding down was dangerous, and creating some kind of path to take on the way back up took some time. They preemptively cut branches and stuck them deep in the snow where things felt slippery.

Somewhere off to their right and above, they could hear the crows chanting in their feasting. He could only just see a few big black birds circling in the sky, perhaps keeping watch for their brethren. It had been rough getting past them without the Yew Captain- Risk hadn't needed to sneak past anything for some time. If only Gashrock weren't with them, it would feel just like old times...

Soon enough the chanting receded. Either the crows had decided to take their revenge up the mountain to the cave, or they had gone to a rest after their feast. Risk hoped it was the latter. He didn't trust the otters to watch over Poko and Nyika. The owl had your standard woodlander honour, even if Swirl-face didn't, but that wouldn't be enough to keep an entire flock out of the cave.

"There's your rat," said Zevka, as they slid onto level ground again. "What's left of him. Where's the cart?"

"It was here," said Risk, scooting forward on all fours. He stopped and coughed. No blood on the snow this time. Good.

The ledge looked different in the cold light of day. The blizzard had gone on long enough to cover up just about everything, save the rat. The crows had gotten to it before the snow could claim it. Risk could only assume they'd braved the weather to investigate the sound of the avalanche- perhaps knowing what kind of score it entailed. And what a prize he'd given them right from the start! Everything laid out like a picnic. All that remained now was scraps.

"Dig around," he said. "Made a hole in the cart before we left it, probably got filled in... Look for where snow's not as deep."

He began to shift through the rat's remains, remembering how near it had been to the fire. It was mostly just the bones now, the crows having nibbled them clean of flesh and gristle. Not bleached-white, but certainly not as messy as it could have been. Gashrock made a face at him. He shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'd've skinned you if you were dead," he said.

"Gee, thanks, Cookie. Yep, loads better now."

"Only fair. What's a tailor good for if not a new cloak once in a while." Snow piffed off the back of his head. "Hmph! I'm only havin' a lark."

"Aye, and I'll only be havin' a lark when I'm makin' a brand new pair o' ferret mocassins and matchin' mitts and owt."

"Ah, an' you've had practice with this? I thought Poko's hedgehog cloak was a might too real..."

"Cookie," said Zevka. "That can't possibly be your real name."

"Nah, it ain't," said Risk. "Always been embarrassed, but my real name's Biscuit. Promise not to tell the good ol' Captain."

The pine marten looked over to Gashrock. "Is he having a lark again?"

"Cookie's never not havin' a lark, I reckon."

"Comes with bein' a clown," said Risk, nodding. He whistled, having uncovered part of the wagon. The other two gathered around and they began to scoop at the snow covering it. Zevka paused for a moment to lean forward toward Risk, her eyes searching his face.

"A clown who pulls beasts out of toad pits and climbs a mountain with a hole in his stomach the size of a fist. There're more to you than jests, Cookie."

"Not really," said Gashrock. "Can't act, can't dance, can't sing, can't bleedin' well cook- ow! Well 's true, innit."

"Then why'd Dewhurst make you cook?"

"I could lift the stew pot," said Risk. He tore another floorboard off the cart, and grinned, pointing at the hole. "Ladies first."

Zevka poked her head into the gap. Half her body slid after it. Risk tilted his head and admired the half that remained with them. Gashrock grimaced and pantomimed shoving a claw down her throat. Still grinning, Risk reached out a paw to see just how soft the marten's tail was, further away from the poofy tip. Zevka squeaked, and vanished fully into the hole. Her head popped out a second later, here eyes glaring daggers with the fangs to match.

Risk, with a wistful expression and his golden head haloed against the sun, was the very picture of chivalry. He pointed at Gashrock.

"He's got tailfur envy."

Zevka opened her mouth to say something, but paused, frowning. "_He_? Gashrock's wearing a female's robe."

"Yeah... always thought that was odd. You want a breeze, a kilt's got better movement."

Gashrock had shoved her face into the snow to keep from laughing.

"Don't _either_ of you touch me there again," said Zevka, glowering.

She ducked back into the cart, mumbling under her breath. Risk chortled to himself. She didn't mean it, he knew. He worked on pulling off another piece, more for firewood than accessibility. Gashrock pulled her head out of the snow and peered into the hole.

"I _am_ female," she informed Zevka. "Cookie sez all rats look alike and owt. Wot's in there?"

Zevka tossed up a roll of fine lavender silk. Risk rubbed it against his cheeks.

"Well, this ain't gonna help naught. It's bloody well see-through!"

Gashrock grabbed it from him. "Gimme. Ooh, soft. No, I can use this. Not everythin's gotta be fer warmth."

"Guess so," said Risk. "Somethin' light may be useful."

"Now you're thinkin' with pockets!"

"Sure am," said Risk, tilting his head back and staring at the sky. A vague smile wandered across his muzzle. Pockets, yes, and scarves and streamers and wind-rippled skirts. Poko would like that- would Zevka? Vanessa? Perhaps he could convince them to audition for a revival of Dewhurst's Players. If Zevka could dance, and the otter could do something interesting with her big tail, and Nyika, with her ghost-whispering... He could be manager, Poko and Gashrock could do what Poko and Gashrock did best. A new start, again.

But his imagination kept coming back to Zevka and Vanessa dancing with the silk, and then less and less of it. The mountain felt less cold, for a few blissful seconds.

"Anythin' else?" said Gashrock.

"A lot of snow," said Zevka. "Stop crowding the light! Here- there's a chest full of herbs and spices. A lockbox... sounds like jewelry."

"Pass it up," said Risk, snapping out of his fantasies. "All of it. Herbs an' spices don't weigh much, an' we'll need somethin' to get us back on our feet in Carrigul."

"We actually goin' to Carrigul, Cookie?"

Risk pointed behind him. "You seen that cliff side? I ain't _that_ desperate to get back to Yew. Sooner try to find the road halfway round the mountain than try my luck on that mess. Ain't gonna... ah... risk it. Not with Poko an' Nnn... an' you."

He worked on bashing the jewelry box open with the dead rat's skull, using the teeth to dig away at the wood around the lock. It was thick oak, not something he wanted to blunt his knife on. Gashrock scowled at his methods nonetheless.

"You really care for that kit, don't you?" said Zevka. "Isn't it a little strange?"

The pine marten's voice carried a light hint of malice. She was prying at something. Risk knew the tone well. It belonged in the shadows behind a throne. It suddenly clicked. He decided to play along.

"Don't think so," he said. "Pyracantha didn't just run a business. She ran a family. You don't become a Dewhurst Player without gettin' a bit of that in you. Why, Gashy here's like a brother-"

"Still female."

"-sister to me."

"And I suppose Poko's mother was... a cousin? Perhaps twice removed?"

Risk's fur bristled. "Aye... maybe a cousin. An' that makes Poko my... ah... niece. Is that right?" he whispered at Gashrock. The rat shrugged.

"'Cookie's got his ladle in more'n one pot.'" Zevka's voice lilted like a kit's rhyme. "Care to explain what that means? Or should I recite the rest of what those two stoats pulling the cart were whispering and giggling about?"

Snots and Earstain- no, what were their names? Korteg and Garrick. Risk growled and banged the skull harder against the jewelry box. Those two yokels... How in Hellgates did they figure it out? No- it wasn't the how, it was the why. _Why_ in Hellgates would they have been anywhere near the river? They were allergic to soap! They never helped with the washing. They pulled the cart, he did the lifting. That was the arrangement. And usually nobeast cared how long it took anyone to do the washing. Unless somebeast had been impatient to get something back and sent them to figure out why it was taking so long...

Risk turned his glare onto Gashrock, who was glaring right back at him. So this was the first he- she'd learned of it, too.

Zevka, having no immediate reply, hefted herself up out of the cart. Now on even ground with him, she cocked her head to the side and continued.

"Does the name Desde_moan_a ring a bell?"

Risk sputtered and threw the skull away. "Have some- have some _bloody_ respect-"

"Because she's dead? But the living, they don't get any, do they?"

"Not if'n they didn't do piddle-all to deserve any!"

Gashrock had stood up and was looking out over the cliff, arms folded, tail snapping back and forth.

"How many other 'cousin's pots' were there, Cookie?"

"What's it matter? None! What's your game, Zevka? This ain't a warlord's court, don't bother with your fancy Academy mind tricks here. So what's it matter?"

Zevka's eyes downright smouldered. In any other situation, Risk would have grabbed her by the hips right then and there, let the fire lash out and scorch the whole mountainside black. It was all he could do not to lash out himself. His fists shook, knuckles burning white.

"It matters that someone is looking out for that kit who is doing it for the right reasons."

"Reasons bein' that somebeast ought to!"

"She's got seven more somebeasts right now, and none of them tried to tear her family apart."

"Des came to _me_," hissed Risk. "Get this straight, an' get it straight _now_: I ain't some desperate lout droolin' after every skirt. I take what comes my way, everybeast does, but I don't widdle in my grog, an' I know where to take my coin. Des had her reasons- I gave her what she needed, what Raul wasn't givin' no more. It weren't love, just business. She had the plan, she was careful, so was I. Not for our sake, but hers, Poko's. Look- if Gashy didn't know, ain't nobeast knew but those stoats. So what... what was there is buried now. It's dead. Des is dead. Now you can tell everybeast, but what good will it do? Go on, tell Poko. Her mother's not been stiff half a day, so go on! Tell her her family was a lie. But I ain't."

Zevka stared at him coolly, then lurched forward, their noses almost touching. Risk could see his reflection in her eyes, and nearly recoiled.

"You swear you're looking out for her for her sake, not your own?"

"I bloody well swear."

He backed down, coughing again, holding his paw to his mouth. He didn't want her to see if there was blood or not. There was. He wiped it off on his rat-skin cloak.

"Then that's good enough for me. And you're right about how it doesn't help anybeast to talk about you and Desdemona. I'm not going to say anything about it, and contrary to what you might think of a beast like me, I'm not going to hold it over your head or try to manipulate you with it. If I ever have to talk about it, it'll be because I _have_ to, not because I want something out of you. But I'm going to find out who you are, Cookie. You're not just some common hordebeast- you can't be, if you've been in a warlord's court. And if you're somebeast who has no right to be around Poko..."

"My name's Risk."

Zevka's mouth did not close for some time.

"Is there any food or ain't there," said Gashrock, easing herself into the cart. Risk got back down on all fours to help pull things out.

The top of the cart had gone- further digging in the snow that was inside revealed no canvas roof. Only a chest and a small crate had remained inside when it had settled in this position. There was food, but barely. Along with the fine silks, spices, and jewelry, there were strips of smoked fish and small jars of candy and preserves. Risk eyed the candy hungrily. It had been sixteen years since he'd last had anything like it. Gashrock was already sampling the fish.

"Want some, Cookie?"

"Ain't hungry." He caught her look. "_I didn't eat the rat_! I just ain't hungry is all. Gashy... you ain't mad at me, are you?"

"Haven't decided yet, have I?"

"_The_ Risk?" came Zevka's voice from above. "Risk the _Cutter_?"

Risk's ears flattened. "Shout it why don't you? Maybe Swirl-face will hear, then."

"Is it true? About the badger prince?"

"Aye. He was four. A blind, crippled weasel could've done it."

"And the, and the, and the- the Battle of New Marshank?"

"'Battle' is a funny word for it. More like 'Massacre'."

"They sent assassins after you..."

Risk just grunted and passed up a jar of jam.

"You killed them all! And then _you_ came after the fox who hired them... I had a figurine of you-"

"Ah...? What's a figurine?"

"Like a doll, innit," said Gashrock.

"Champion," said Risk, unsure if he should be pleased or not. He'd met a strange monitor lizard, once, and sometimes had unsettling dreams about it. Dolls were just things he didn't want to think about anymore.

"Er, not _of_ you, I just used it _for_ you, to represent... in the battles that... I used it for other beasts, too... anyway... But then you just vanished!"

"Can't imagine why I'd want to do that, now..."

"But how in Hellgates did you end up a _clown_?"

Risk looked up at her. Her expression was inscrutable to him. He couldn't quite call it awe, and it certainly wasn't lust. He wondered if, perhaps, this was what respect looked like. Very confused respect, if so.

"Honestly, Zevka? I ain't got a bloody idea."

Zevka looked at Gashrock. "You knew? About him?"

"Aye. We all did. 'Cept the bit about the badger. I thought 'e was big! Ballad o' The Cutter kinda loses its charm now, don't it..."

"Never liked the melody, myself," said Risk. "Couldn't stand up to any of Gonff's classics."

Further discussion was cut short by a disturbing creaking, like the sound of a frozen lake beginning to thaw. Zevka grabbed what immediately fit in her paws and started running back to the treeline. Gashrock was out of the cart in a trice, but took a moment longer to wrap her goodies in a sling of silk before limping off after the marten. Risk, not wanting to leave the crate of candy jars behind, got flat on his stomach to try to pull them up. The edges of the crate kept catching on the cart's torn planks, and jars began to spill. Holding the crate up in one paw he began to unload the jars by gently tossing them over his shoulder into the snow.

The creaking grew in intensity- Risk felt the ledge drop a few inches, and his insides began to rise of their own accord. Zevka was shouting. Gashrock was shouting. His footpaws kicked up a flurry as he tried to pull back from the cart. Too much of his body was over the edge. He roared and twisted around to grab at the wood to haul himself up. He could see Gashrock and Zevka waving to him before vanishing behind some trees, but ignored them. He took off his rat-skin cloak and laid it out to begin piling the jars inside it. He closed it like a bindle and started toward them.

His going was slower than it should have been, he could barely breathe- lying on his stomach had done him no favours, and the pain was reaching up through his spine to the back of his neck, like somebeast was trying to choke him from behind. The ledge dropped another foot, and he fell, cracking his chin on his cargo.

"Leave it!" Zevka was screaming, along with a few choice obscenities and opinions regarding his intelligence. Risk couldn't see Gashrock anymore. He got back up and continued, trying to ignore what was happening behind him. He could hear trees snapping and rocks scraping against the cliff side. The entire ledge was giving way, like a plate balanced on the edge of the table. For a second or two he felt the ground _rise_ instead of fall.

Something dark in the shifting snow caught his eye, and he shoved the rat-skin bindle at Zevka, who was holding her arms out to him.

"Cookie- Risk, what are you doing?"

Risk didn't have time to explain. He kicked at the snow, flailing at it with all four paws, snapping at it with his teeth, coughing blood at it all the while. Where, where- there! His paw closed around the rat's tail, and he gripped it with all his might, tugging the rest of the rodent out of the snow.

He turned back to the treeline, but it was gone. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see. There was nothing under his footpaws but air. But there was something in his left paw, something soft and smooth- _silk!_ His claws dug in. His descent halted. His arms strained and he couldn't squeak out barely more than a whimper.

There was a final explosion of debris and ice below him, and then the mountain was quiet save for a distant booming echo across the valleys. He swung and spun lazily, facing a wall of sheer rock, then the charred, clouded skies, then rock again. He could have sworn there was a hole below him, but when he blinked his eyes, trying to free them of grit, it was gone.

"Cookie... Risk... let go of the rat." Zevka's voice floated down to him from above- a dark-muzzled angel, his savior. How embarrassing.

"Ain't... lettin' Gashy..."

"Cookie, ye bloody idjit, let go of the rat!" Risk squinted up. There were two shapes up there, but... no, were there? That one was just a tree, wasn't it? He squinted down, still blinking to clear his vision. One eye was mostly free. He had to chuckle at what he saw.

"See, Gashy... knew you were male!"

The silk began tearing and peeling away under his claws. He tried to wrap it around his wrist by pulling himself up twisting his arm. It didn't work. Gashrock was too heavy.

"I'm up _here_, ye beige buffoon!"

"Risk," said Zevka, "you're clinging onto a _dead rat_. It is not Gashrock!"

"You sure?"

"**We're sure!**" They both cried. Gashrock added, "and owt." Yes, that was definitely not her whose tail he was holding on to. He then recalled that there had been two rats. Somehow, the crows had missed the second.

"Ah."

Risk let go of the rat's tail. It vanished from his sight before it struck the wreckage below. He grabbed onto the silk and climbed up. Zevka and Gashrock grabbed each of his arms as he reached the top, wheezing from exertion. Now he could see the silk was wrapped around a tree further up the slope. He winced. That must have been where Gashrock had vanished to.

Zevka shoved a jar of candy at him, along with his rat-skin.

"That's wicked dumb luck, Risk. What in Hellgates were you thinking?"

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth. It felt like his teeth were loose. His whole chin felt numb from the impact on the jars earlier. Zevka repeated her question, and he blinked dozily, trying to fixate on her. His angel! His grimace momentarily morphed into a grin, just for her.

"Was thinkin' I'd rather it've been your tail, so I could give it the tuggin' it deserves!"

Zevka sighed and shook her head.

"Graaah... you are just impossible, Risk." She seemed unsure whether to scowl or smile. She settled for an alluring combination of the two, which cracked away into a simple frown as her eyes swept over their much diminished stockpile of loot. "We nearly lost everything, grabbing you. Gashrock has some of the food, that roll of silk... I've got these bloody spices- useless! All those stupid jars you risked your life for rolled away. Let's get away from here before this entire slope goes after them."

She slunk away to gather her things. Gashrock began to roll up the silk.

"Really did a number on this with your claws, Cookie."

"Sorry, Gash. Only tryin' to save your life."

"Yeah, I know. Just maybe next time make sure it's mine and that it is still a life."

"Aye." He hugged the jar of candy and smiled like a kit. Blood dribbled from between his front teeth. "Worth it, though."

Gashrock snorted, and then they broke out into fits of giggling. They had to laugh. Nobeast had died. That they knew of.

"Shame about the jewelry, though, innit."

"Aye..."

Gashrock stuck a paw into her robe and drew out an emerald and pearl necklace. "Aye, it hasn't got a box no more!"

Risk howled with further laughter, and they split the loot between them for better safe keeping. Zevka barked at them both to stop acting like clowns.

"But we _are_!"

"_I_ ain't! I'm a prof-fesh-in-ill actor, me."

They took their time getting back, just to give their nerves a rest. Risk shared a few candies with them, then squirreled them away in his own pockets to save for later- the jar was kept, now empty. He only bothered to give one a few tentative licks, and found the taste of peppermint to be too much. He shoved a pawful of snow in his mouth and let it melt and trickle down his throat. Gashrock cut away the claw-shredded silk and Zevka helped Risk wrap around his stomach- he had torn his stitches.

"Sorry," he said, as he held his tunic up to display his stomach. "Ain't much to look at these days, gettin' a bit chubby from all the cheap grog. But if you're good, maybe tonight I can show you the rest. See how it matches up to your figurine, eh?"

"Maybe." Zevka flicked his nose and snorted. "If _you're_ good."

"Please, please be bad," whispered Gashrock, shutting her eyes with a shiver.

The main ledge was mostly untouched by the calamity below, though some snow had shifted off the trees. Risk made sure to check the grave. It was still intact, though the marker had become lopsided. He pushed it in a little deeper, and they carried on.

The crows were still gone. They stopped to investigate the tunnel under the other cart. It, too, was gone.

"Either the second avalanche made it crumble..." said Zevka.

"...or whoever dug it decided they didn't need it no more," said Risk. "Well, I ain't diggin' at anythin' no more on this mountain. An' no one really liked Greenflick. Just bein' a survivor don't make him one of us, aye? One less mouth to feed. Think about it this way- more for Poko."

"More for Poko," echoed Zevka. "And Nyika."

"An' Nyika..."

He almost didn't want to return to the cave. It would mean having to face her again. Getting to see her again.

With that in mind, he was first to return.


	16. Pascal's Wager

**16. Pascal's Wager**

_By: Zevka_

After the group received the unfortunate news about the wagons, Poko's stomach growled expressively, Vanessa swore quietly and Nyika looked even more forlorn than she had been. Zevka stretched a bit, and rotated her arm a few times, trying to work some of the soreness out of her muscles. Supporting Risk and the added weight of a dead rat was more strain than her arm was used to. She sighed.

"Okay, so how do we get some fresh food before we use up what little we have left?" the marteness asked. "We need something that either has, once had or is going to have a pulse, too. Most of us can't survive on just plants and preserved bread. I've read about what happens to beasts that try it. It isn't pretty."

Zevka gave a slightly disconcerting smile as the contents of her book on the doomed Elmfang Expedition came back to her. "Lots of teeth falling out, senses going wrong, weird smells as your body breaks down parts of itself to keep you alive – and that's not the worst it gets."

"Thanks. Appreciate your sunny outlook on life," Poko drawled from the other end of the group.

Zevka rolled her eyes. "I'm just being realistic!"

"We could lure in some birds," Risk suggested.

All eyes immediately turned to Noonahootin, expecting the owl to immediately object. However, the anticipated reaction was not forthcoming.

Noonahootin looked at Zevka with a light furrowing of his brow, amber eyes neither kind nor particularly malicious. The owl took on an air of stoicism as he considered first the pine marten and then the rest of the group, examining each and every face as though peering into darkness. When he sighed, it was deep and resigned, as though he was conceding an argument.

"As it stands, I cannot eat the flesh of my own kind. It is just as though you were given the option of eating your neighbour or cousin," the owl stated matter-of-factly. "You must eat, I understand. We all must. However, I would ask you, should you...have no other option than to, hmph, hunt, please do not eat in front of me. Do not cook your meal within range of my smell, either, please. I will depart to a safe distance if it helps."

There was a moment of awkward silence - apparently, nobeast really wanted to talk about eating birds anymore.

_Sure, he SAYS it's alright...but let's face it, do any of us want to upset a giant owl? I'd normally love a woodpigeon, but it just doesn't seem worth the risk..._

"Well, since that seems to pose a problem, how about this: ice fishing!" Zevka was pleased to see a fairly positive response to her idea. "I know it's too cold for lakes to be uncovered, but under the ice there should be some liquid water. If we can cut through it, we can get to the water and the fish."

"There was a patch of ice that I saw a short distance to our east," Noonahootin responded. "We could get there quickly enough to do some fishing and then come back here, if we so choose. "

"How far is a 'short' distance and is it really short for us wot can't fly?" Gashrock asked with evident skepticism.

Noonahootin looked at Gashrock with a hint of condescension. "I have spent my life working with beasts who cannot fly. I am quite certain the journey is within our capabilities."

"Ah reckon fish is just the thing for all of us – we kin all eat it and nae get sick, and ye've got me tae swim 'em down." Nessa's mood seemed to have brightened. "An' Mister Inkface 'ere could help oot as well. Right, Istvan?"

Istvan's reaction was a good deal less positive than Vanessa's. The otter made a noncommittal gesture. "The Mother has been generous in her gifts to our kind."

"I guess that settles it, then," Zevka said decisively.

Noonahootin transitioned smoothly into what was surely a familiar role for him. "We should leave as soon as possible, to make sure we have as much daylight as we can. Take only what you need for the day. We shouldn't burden ourselves too heavily."

It took the party a surprisingly short amount of time to get ready to go, especially given that many of them had had a far from relaxing night. The prospect of a hot, fresh meal of fish crackling over an improvised fire as bits of fat melted off of it was apparently good motivation. Still, some beasts were faster on the uptake than others, and Zevka wound up pacing back and forth impatiently, glancing up at the sky every so often as she waited for everybeast to finish.

"Zevka, mebbe ye should siddown, noo? Keep on doin' that an' ye'll wear another 'ole in the mountain."

The marteness paused at Nessa's words.

"Sorry, I just don't like staying around here so long when we _know_ that either somebeast is messing with us, or that the ground is prone to caving in. I also don't like being out in the middle of nowhere this long! The things I like - books, damson wine, theatres, little hordebeast figurines that I can force to fight battles against other little hordebeast figurines - you know what these things have in common? You don't find any of them in the middle of the mountains!"

"Don't think there's anybeast 'ere who dinnae want to be back in town, Zevka," Ness pointed out. "I could go fer a nice table at the Twisted Pine right now, too."

Zevka sighed. "I know...and it's not like we're the only beasts this has ever happened to. There was this warlord named Wrexholm a long time ago. He found himself surrounded on all sides, with the "impassable" Whitespire Mountains behind him. He led his army into the Whitespires, and marched it across them for most of a season. Enough lived to come out of the mountains and flank the enemy."

"How did he do it? Do you remember anything useful?" Poko asked.

Zevka frowned in concentration. "Unfortunately, I haven't read the book about Wrexholm since I was 16. Hmm. I do remember that he thought it was very important to keep morale up. Insisted that beasts eat together, did real funerals for beasts who died...he even had them put on a play or two."

"Ye don' say..." Gashrock the rat had finished her own packing and come over to listen.

"It gave them something to do. They'd practice every night, gather things together to make costumes. I think they did Dead as a Dormouse and The Corsairs' Booty. Wrexholm himself even got in on it - he played Brownblood the Drunkard. Apparently, this was a huge hit, since Wrexholm was normally a bit of a stiff."

Zevka noticed a gleam come into Gashrock's eye.

Finally, the entire party was ready to go. They set off for the ice patch that Noonahootin had seen, moving at a fairly brisk pace motivated by cold and hunger. Some beasts, however, clearly had other things on their minds then food. Nyika and Poko both trudged along behind the rest of the party, and before too long, Zevka and Nessa had slowed themselves down enough to close the distance with the two youngest group members.

The pine marteness noted Nyika staring off into the distance as she walked, a slight frown on her face. Zevka walked over and put her paw on the cat's shoulder.

"Whatever you see out there, Nyika, don't let it frighten you. You're here, you're alive, you're safe. Try to focus on keeping it that way."

"I'm feeling just fine today. Thanks for asking," Poko broke in, scowling slightly. The little ferret had lagged behind Zevka, Nessa and Nyika for a bit, but moved to catch up with them.

Zevka chose to ignore the frown on Poko's masked little face. "I'm glad to hear that, Poko. Are you hungry?" The marteness unshouldered her pack as she walked. "I have a few crickets left. They don't really keep well past a few days, and I bought them right as we were setting out. They need to be eaten now."

She gestured to Nessa and Nyika to come over as well. The others were pointedly not included in the invitation. Each recipient got at least two crickets, with a third for Poko and Nyika.

"You and I both had some before, Nessa," Zevka offered by way of explanation. "Besides, those two look like they could use more food. Especially you, Nyika. You're too skinny!"

Nyika shrugged her shoulders. "I get by."

"What about the others?" Nessa asked, though her hungry glance belied the selfless statement.

"These aren't from the group stockpile, and if I split them with the whole group, that's barely a snack. The way I see it, I might as well give them to beasts I actually like. I'd rather give you two than waste one on Istvan," Zevka said matter-of-factly.

Nessa flashed a quick smirk at Istvan, popping the crickets into her mouth and chewing slowly.

"Thanks, Zevka," the otter said.

Poko's mood seemed to brighten a little bit as she enjoyed the mixture of sweetness and protein. The ferret's ear twitched.

"So...what sorts of things did you do in your horde? Did you fight any battles? Did you ever kill anybeast?" Poko asked Zevka eagerly.

Zevka suppressed a chuckle, reminded of a little marteness who had once asked the same question of older beasts. Then her eyes flickered to Nessa, who, although clearly grateful for the crickets, suddenly looked uncomfortable again.

_So...need to be gory enough for Poko, but tidy enough for Nessa. Sounds like a plan..._

"Well, it's not _quite_ like you hear about in stories. Like I said, a lot of the time, we were just running a kingdom, and keeping the peace, not that differently from the Yew Guard. Still, I've seen a few battles in my time. We had a big brigand problem, a couple of other kingdoms trying to take our territory, and then, of course, there was..." Zevka broke off suddenly.

_Scat, I forgot...best not to mention Redwall..._

"There were lots of other dangers. Never a dull moment. I'm lucky to have got through it with all of my parts still on. Worst I ever had happen to me was a few cuts and so forth."

"But...ye really _dinnae_ have slaves or pillage townsbeasts, right?" Nessa asked, with a hint of urgency.

"Of course we didn't have slaves!" Zevka sniffed. "We weren't that backwards! In fact, I helped make sure that we never did!"

"Are ye sure?"

"I'm sure. No slaves for Stekpo's horde!" Zevka said, nodding vigorously.

_Why would anybeast want slaves when they can just pay poor villagers to build things? Paid beasts don't rebel, you don't have their friends and family attacking you, and you only pay for them when you actually need something. Why is this so hard for a lot of hordes to figure out?_

"Were you a warrior? Or a captain, like Cookie?" Poko asked.

"Hmm. Not really either one, I suppose. I was more of an adviser, really, but there were others, too. I spent a lot of my time with Mekad trying to get things a little more modern around there – we thought that Mekad was going to inherit it, but...well, that didn't work out the way we had planned."

"So...ye weren't _really_ doin' anythin' too bad. 'An I'm sure there werenae a lot of other choices," Nessa said, as much to herself as to Zevka.

"The All Mother gives us all the same choice: to live as honest beasts should live, or to suffer the consequences. A simple choice, and yet it terrifies so many beasts." Istvan had made his way back towards the four females, and took the opportunity to inject himself into the conversation.

Nessa frowned at the other Guard. "Who asked ye tae shove yer werd in, Istvan? Ah've seen yer 'consequences'; they're nae how me Da taught me ta be a guard."

"I am a priest of true faith of the All-Mother. I have a sacred duty to uphold her will in this world, despite everybeast's attempts to the contrary. I must never miss an opportunity to enthusiastically display my commitment to the most sacred of duties."

Zevka rolled her eyes openly, hoping that Istvan might take the hint. Unfortunately, Poko undercut this effort by offering the one bait no fanatic could resist: an interested audience.

"Enthusiastic displays? Like what - some sorta dance?"

"Returning the blood of sinners to the purifying embrace of the Mother, usually." Istvan replied.

"Returning blood of whowhatnow? Who're "sinners" and what's the embrace?" Poko's curiosity was clearly piqued.

"Poko...don't encourage him," Zevka said, a note of warning in her voice.

Istvan glared at Zevka, then turned back to Poko. "You do not know about sin? Do you understand right and wrong?"

"Uh...sorta? I think. You mean like...it ain't right that rich beasts walk all over poor beasts and take what they want? Or like...it's wrong to kick a kit for no good reason?"

"That's a good start. There are few sins worse than cruelty to kits; they are the Mother's most precious creation. So whenever a beast commits a sin, there is a price, you see. The Mother gives herself unto us in the gift of life, and by using this gift for evil acts you profane the essence of the Mother within you. Therefore the gift of life must be returned to her in the form of the lifeblood to be purified. Those who use all they have been given for evil do not deserve to keep it."

Poko looked thoughtful. "Yeah, life's definitely a gift. My Papa taught me that. You just gotta live it full. But I guess your Mother gets all our lives back in the end no matter how we are. Even yours. No one's perfect and everyone dies."

"When you die, your soul is given an eternal reward based on how you have lived. You can either exist within the love of the Mother, or in torment with those who have chosen to forsake her."

"I'm sorry, but exactly _how_ do you know this?" Zevka could not resist breaking in at this point. "Because to me, it sounds like you just made most of it up."

"I speak from the words of the last High Priestess, who learned from her predecessor, and thus back in to time immemorial," Istvan said haughtily.

Zevka snorted. "So, some qua- excuse me, priestess told a story to another priestess, who told a story to somebeast else, and so on. Seems to me that beasts have trouble remembering drink orders when they pass through too many intermediaries, let alone anything more complicated."

"There is no comparison between the care we take out of devotion to the Mother and the care your tavern maids take with drink orders." Istvan made no effort to hide his annoyance at Zevka's irreverence.

"How do you know that Priestess Number One wasn't lying? Seems like starting up a religion is a great way for this priestess to get other beasts to kill for her, die for her, or do whatever else she wanted them to do."

"The first Priestess was run out of three towns, had her paws cut off, and was reduced to conducting ceremonies in the dead of night in the forest."

"Well, there goes my plan to start a religion," Zevka said dryly.

"The truth is hard, marten, and most beasts would rather not hear it," Istvan said with an air of martyrdom.

"Ain't that a fact," Nyika muttered under her breath. "And most of them won't pay for it, either."

Zevka twitched her ear in annoyance. "Well, then that's another problem in itself: why should anybeast believe in or worship a deity that takes such lousy care of its followers? You say you're the 'most beloved' priest in miles? Why can't Mama All produce some happier, more successful followers than you? It doesn't seem to me that this religion of yours makes beasts better off."

"The Mother does not give us material wealth; the greatest and purest joy comes from serving her will," Istvan said with an air of serenity. "I will have eternal happiness when I return to her embrace, rather than the ephemeral indulgences which accompany being, as you say, 'better off.'"

Zevka refused to be diverted. "If you're the most impressive specimen of your faith, why the 'Gates should anybeast spend their life chained down by it? You don't look like a happy beast to me, Istvan, and you don't really seem like you have anybeast who actually cares about you. How is this evidence that yours is the best way to live?"

"I have not seen you question Nyika in this way about her abilities," Istvan said in a rather pointed tone.

_Damn! He may have me there. Thing is, I don't actually know that Nyika's abilities are objectively real, just that they aren't an act. But what would saying that do to Nyika?_

Zevka leaned towards Istvan. "I know when beasts are faking something to get my coins. Nyika isn't faking. I didn't believe in ghosts before I came here, and maybe I still don't believe in them. I'm just not sure."

"Then how can you be sure about the All Mother? And what of the consequences if you are wrong?"

"What about if you are wrong, Istvan? What if this is all there is? Or what if there's something else, but we can't find out about it? What if Vulpuz or Martin or Sretni or some other deity is real, and yours isn't, and you've spent your life being miserable only to go to 'Gates anyways because you did it for the wrong boss?"

"I need fear none of those things. The All Mother is real, and she has no need for those other beings you describe. Sadly, most beasts would rather damn themselves then submit to the truth of the Mother."

"Well, frankly, I'm prepared to risk being wrong about that, rather than be like you, Istvan," Zevka snarled. "I don't know what happens to beasts when they die, but I do know that this world exists, and I'm not going to cut myself off from other beasts and live without anybeast in this world thinking of me as anything other than a threat or a curiosity."

"I have always lived in accordance with the will of the Mother, even when it was the most difficult thing in the world. How could you find an imperfection in that?" Istvan turned back to Poko, clearly preferring her reaction to him over Zevka's.

"So you say beasts pay for wrongs they've done by giving their lives? Or blood?" Poko asked.

"Yes, exactly."

"Oh. So how do you know whether you've bled enough to be okay?" There was clearly real fear behind this question from Poko. The young sprite's demeanor was far more solemn than it normally was. Zevka cringed.

_Oh no...tell me she isn't thinking of..."_

"It depends on the seriousness of the offenses. Why do you ask?" Istvan's interest was clearly piqued.

Zevka heart sank at what Poko said next. "Cause I guess...I'm thinkin' about my parents."

"If-"

"That is ENOUGH, Istvan!" Zevka snarled, ears flat against her head. "You can prattle on about your religion until the rest of your face turns blue. You can threaten us all with damnation as much as you please. But you are _not_ going to poison the memory of Poko's family, and you are _not_ going to talk Poko into doing some crazy ritual with her dead parents' bodies!"

"Zevka! Stop!" Nyika had noticed the marten's paw resting on her saber hilt.

Zevka kept her paw firmly on the saber, all pain in her arm and shoulder forgotten.

Clearly at least one beast had heard the noise. Risk closed the gap between himself and Poko at a much higher speed than Zevka would have expected an injured beast to move.

"What's the bleedin' ruckus?" Risk asked, wheezing just a bit. His knife was drawn. He glanced about for enemies, but upon seeing Zevka and Istvan's respective stances, appeared to suss out the situation quickly enough. "You lookin' to start somethin', Corporal, or just finishin' it?" His voice was soft and disarming, but the look in his eyes as he regarded Istvan left no doubt as to the proper response.

Istvan glanced from Zevka to Poko to Risk. "Hiding the truth from her is no victory. All you've done is damn her parents." The otter took one last look at them, and then walked off to meet Noonahootin, who had started to fly back towards them.

"Thanks." Zevka said to Risk. And meant it.

Risk gave her a confused look. "What in Hellgates was that?"

"He was trying to explain to Poko why her parents were going to be damned because she didn't get him to help mutilate their remains," Zevka explained with a growl of frustration.

"The mountain did that enough I'd reckon," said Risk. He softened further, sheathing his knife. He made as if to pat Poko on the head, but his paw didn't quite make it all the way before falling to his side. "They were good beasts... they got a grave, crows never got to 'em- that's more rest than most beasts I knew, Pockets. Don't worry about 'em no more." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back at Istvan and Noonahootin. "Promise I won't let him out of my sight again. Bugger had me walkin' in front of him..."

Zevka nodded. "Thank you, Risk." Her gaze hardened. "Anybeast who would try to stuff his bill of goods down the throat of a grieving kit needs watching."

The party resumed its travel towards the ice patch, this time with Istvan near the front and away from Zevka.

Nessa looked worried. "Zevka, I wish you 'adnae done that...Istvan is not right in the brainbox! If you really make 'im mad, an' he thinks the All Mother want 'im to 'urt you..."

Zevka sighed in frustration. "I know, Nessa. I appreciate your concern. But I couldn't just let him do that to Poko."

The marteness walked over and slung her arm over the young ferret's shoulders. "Poko...just don't listen to Istvan. I don't care what Inkychops and his imaginary friend say." She crouched down to look Poko directly in the eyes as both mustelids came to a stop. "Your parents loved you, and you clearly loved them back. Just try to remember that. Don't worry about that -"

Nyika gasped at what Zevka proceeded to call Istvan.

"And don't let him use your parents to worm his way into your ear."

Poko still looked like she wanted to cry, but was absolutely determined not to. Zevka hugged her. For a while, nobeast could think of anything to say. Eventually, Zevka released Poko, and they all settled on just walking.

As they continued to travel, Zevka shot an annoyed glance at Nyika. "By the way, I don't suppose it would have been too much to ask for you to mention that everybeast who dies doesn't go to eternal damnation for not being Istvan?"

"I wasn't being spoken to…" Nyika said shyly.

Zevka clapped a paw to her forehead.

"Look, you sometimes have to be more assertive than that, Nyika! Istvan doesn't seem like the sanest of beasts under ideal circumstances. What if he goes downhill?"

"Oh, he won't survive it." There was something in the wildcat's tone that set Zevka's tail fluffing.

"And we might not either! I might have made things worse...but I couldn't just stand there and let him do that to Poko." Zevka sighed, then turned back to Nyika. "Also, when we go back to town, go have fun. Find some friends your own age, or a mate, or somebeast to keep you grounded. Istvan is what happens to beasts who don't do those things. He's so immersed in his world that he doesn't really live in ours. Don't let your ability be all there is to you."

"It's all I have," Nyika replied.

It was the saddest response to her advice that Zevka could imagine.


	17. The Snow Queen

**17. The Snow Queen**

_By: Gashrock_

Being a grown beast meant that one picked up on subtleties. Any kit could hear "It's time for dinner now" and scramble to be fed, but it took maturity to understand "I say, the sun's gettin' a bit in my eyes, and those supplies are awfully heavy, don't you think" and appreciate the nuance of the invitation.

Fortunately for Gashrock, despite her size, she was very much a grown beast. And when Blackbriar casually happened to mention Wrexholm the Warlord, who had led his threadbare army through the frigid mountains during dismal days and windcursed nights with little food and scarcer drink, relying on their good spirits to make up for their absence of savory spirits, and even going so far as to play the fool-literally-in a one-act play that boosted their morale, she knew how to take the hint. Just so long as it wasn't Istvan's sort of morals that needed boosting, a short play would certainly be the thing to stir the hearts of her comrades.

It was easy enough to take stock of their resources. Too easy. It was herself, and Poko, and Cookie. No Dewhurst to boss them around, to pick something all wrong for the season, or that would only rely on their mastery of props or quick changes of clothes.

No. There had been no body to mourn for, and Gashrock wouldn't waste tears. It was time to see what she could do on her own.

Something appropriate, something that could mock the snow, something that would only need three actors, and a few props. No sense recruiting their "captain" to participate, unless Cookie could do it for her. Maybe Cookie could get the owl to donate a few spare feathers to the cause? If they could rig them up from an altitude, that would lend a sort of ambiance to a couple scenes...

As they walked along, she fell back with Cookie and Poko. Well, that was stretching things a bit. She stayed to the back, and waved Poko and Cookie alongside.

"Right, then," said Gashrock. "Blackbriar says she'd like us to put on a play."

"An' you're listenin' to her?" said Cookie.

"If we can impress her, why not? Better her than a ruddy old bird and a couple of otters, innit."

"So what are we going to do?" Poko asked. "We don't have anything."

"That's all right, I've thought it out. Lemme know what you think." They plodded along, Gashrock trying not to look down at her leg or the snow. Just staring into space, quietly whispering the plotline so as not to give anything away to passers-by.

"This is my very original script, which I only play-jerized just a little bit.

We start off with a brother and sister named Hans and Greta. They are definitely not father and daughter, on account of I don't want Poko to break down and break the fourth wall. I dunno exactly what that is. But it's bad luck to break it, so.

Hans and Greta live with their grandmother, who is very old and infirm, and is so sick that she does not come down from the rooms upstairs, and so they are always yellin' up to her and she ain't callin' back, on account of there ain't any more actors. Unless I climb upstairs an' hide only I don't wanna do that.

So there they are, and Hans is nice to his sister, only what he wants is a nice silver bow, innit, for shootin' beasts. So they're playin', and he only goes and finds a silver arrow! Except there's no bow with it.

And then he's all sulky, and he don't want to play with the little kids no more. And so one day he finds the snow lady, which is me, and I'm wearin' a ruddy old fur coat, on account of it's cold. And so I says to him, "oy, you have my arrow," and he says "aye," and I says "I've got a whole arse-nal of those, back in my palace," and off he comes with me.

Then Greta is sad, and her grandmum thinks Hans got drownded, but she won't believe none of it, so off she goes tryin' to find him. And she treks around, and keeps lookin' up and talkin' to sparras and crows and owt, and they're like the grandmum bein' all high-up, only on account of them bein' birds, not infirm or anything like that.

So she follows the birds, and sure enough she comes to find the castle. And she pokes around the arrows and owt, and finds Hans, and hugs him a bit, and suddenly he can think straight again. But he nicks a silver bow, afore they head out, so there's that.

And I forget how it ends so we'll make summat up. We should have songs and Hans showin' off his strength. There's a bit about how they ain't kits no more, when they get back, but I'm not puttin' that in on account of Hans is already big, so that wouldn't make sense. And I forget what the point is about bein' big compared to little, bein' little's more of a lark iffen yer asks me. And not just about rats bein' small. Anyway that's the play, only there's not a script on account of I ain't got no paper. Any questions?"

The ferrets blinked at her for a moment before Poko asked, "If you ain't got no paper, how're we gonna memorize it?"

"Oh, you just, make it up as you go. It's like tellin' stories. I'll be crawled up somewhere yellin' at you most of the time, so just follow along with my lead."

"Who's the snow lady? Some kind of hypnotist?"

"A hip-notice?" Gashrock repeated. "Nah, she's just a lady."

"Well is she bad?"

"Aye, she is. On account of, she's got...too many arrows? Or summat. Iffen we had more beasts I'd've put in more scenes with her, but...ah, we make do."

"How do they defeat her, then?"

"When Greta hugs Hans or owt, it snaps his arrow in two, and then...maybe she's out, doin' business, and they just run away? I dunno, I'll write in a little fight. Beasts like fights. Only yer not fightin' in this scene, on account of you don't know what you're at."

"Hold on a tick. Do you have any silver arrows?" asked Cookie. "I ain't usin' any of this jewelry to make nothin' silver."

"That I have to work on, yet," said Gashrock. "I'll ask Blackbriar, she might be helpful." Although the weapon that the pine marten kept sheathed seemed to be more of a close-range tool, now that she thought of it. Oh well. It was worth a shot. As it were.

She panted as she rushed up ahead, her leg slowly throbbing as she caught up to Blackbriar. "Oy there!"

"Yes?" Zevka turned.

"Do you have any...bow and arrows lyin' around? Or d'you know who might?"

Zevka squinted. "What do you think you're gonna shoot at?"

"Nothin'! It's for the play, innit."

"What play?"

"The one we're goin' to put on. I ain't no Wrexholm, but I know my part. And iffen I don't know my part, why, I write myself a new part."

"I don't know what you're babbling on about."

"You said you wanted to be like Wrexholm! Makin' his own ruddy theater in the snowbanks!"

"I said I wanted to go to a proper theater. And have damson wine and little playthings at the ready, all of the nice luxuries of villages."

"You-_don't_ want a play?"

"In the middle of this?" Zevka spread her arm wide. "You'd have to be mad."

Gashrock stood still, waiting for the ferrets to catch up with her, thoughts crumbling like the snow.


	18. If a Tree Falls in the Forest

**18. If a Tree Falls in the Forest...**

_By: Poko_

The tattoo-faced otter's condemning words still echoed in Poko's ears as she straggled labouriously behind Zevka, keeping the marteness's dark swaying tail ever in her peripheral vision. She stepped deliberately in the pine marten's footprints, though the tracks were further apart than her own, trying to keep from getting bogged down in the snow. Were her parents really going to be damned? Her father had been a thief – and a really good one. So, did that make him bad? He stole to support them when their pay didn't cover their needs, and even then, those he swindled still laughed at his fantastic tricks. A giant constricting lump formed in her throat at the thought of her father. Her mind jumped to envision his dead eyes once again, frosted with snowflakes, mouth ghoulishly ajar, but she shoved the horrific image from her mind, refusing to let it take over. Now was not the time. Distraction is what she needed – something else – anything else to think about.

Zevka marched determinedly ahead of her, absorbed in the rhythm of her progress. Poko looked behind her but saw only Nyika, queen of melodrama. The wildcat was such a deviously clever fraud. All the adults were taken in by her act, but Poko was not fooled. From the start Nyika had played up her imaginary psychosis to gain attention – even at Poko's expense. Even Zevka the ex-hordebeast had fallen victim to her manipulations, coddling and petting the cat as if she were some fragile poppet. Nyika had duped her into giving away the very cloak off her back just by screaming and carrying on about how "the ghosts were coming for her."

She'd played some cutesy role in front of the owl as well to win him over. He had given her a toy. _"She's sixteen!"_ Poko wanted to yell from her spot on the floor, but no one would have cared. To the adults, Nyika was a child and she played that up well. They even called her "kitten." Poko was two years younger than the cat but she would never stoop so low. She realized she had to grow up now. Her parents were gone and these strangers, much as they doted on the cat, were not obligated to watch out for either of them. Poko had to be smart like her mother told her, and strong like Zevka. She was in charge of her own destiny now.

With some effort the small ferret caught up to the pine marten, jumping into another set of tracks. The hood of her hedgehog costume flopped with each leaping step.

"Hey! Hey Zevka!"

"Yeah?" The marteness glanced at the bouncing ferret and slowed a little. "Careful – you don't want to risk opening up those wounds again…"

"He'll open up my…? Ohhh. Right. It's okay I can't hardly feel my toe it's so numb!"

Zevka looked concerned at this information, but Poko didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, I was just wondering – can you teach me how to fight?"

The pine marten smiled. "Paw-to-paw, or do you have some weapon in mind?"

"Both!" Poko grinned with enthusiasm, balling her paws into small fists. "But I don't have a weapon," she said, more to the ground than to the pine marten.

"Paw-to-paw then."

"If I find a weapon will you teach it to me?" Poko had been eyeing several beasts' shinies and her fingers itched.

"I suppose. If you like, I can give you a few pointers as we walk."

"Ooo – keen!" Poko rubbed her paws together, warming them up for action.

"Hold on. I want Nyika in on this too…"

"What? Nooo!" Poko groaned.

Zevka looked annoyed. "Look, this is useful stuff for any kit to use in times of trouble, and if any time qualifies as 'troubled,' I'd say it's now. Nyika!" she called back, "would you come join us?"

"Ugggghhhhh." Poko glowered, then brightened at the thought of practicing the moves on Nyika. She was confident that she could out-maneuver the wildcat, despite her larger size. After all, Poko had some pretty decent acrobatic skills, and she was lightning quick.

Nyika finished licking one of the bald spots on her arm before joining them. She liked to keep up her scraggly appearance. Nothings says "I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown" like patchy fur and self-inflicted scratches. She had plenty of those too. She liked to claim they were from the ghosts she saw, but Poko had seen her scratching her own face when no one else was looking, when she was pretending to be in some kind of "spiritual trance."

Zevka held out a paw to help the wildcat along. Poko felt a wave of resentment.

"I was about to show Poko some self-defense moves and wanted you to be included."

"Oh, that's okay," the wildcat started. "I don't think – "

"Nonsense," Zevka said. "You'll need this in case of some crow attack, or worse."

"Ah." Nyika sniffled a little in a blatant effort to tug on the pine marten's heart strings. She looked less than enthused.

"Okay," Zevka started off, "just to clarify – _talking_ about it is really _not_ the best way to learn to fight, but I don't see that there' s any other option at the moment and I'd like you to at least learn a _few_ survival techniques. That said, the first rule of self-defense is: It's better to escape than to fight if you don't have to."

Poko frowned up at the marteness, "What? But that's what a _coward _would do!"

Zevka arched a brow, "It's what a _survivor _would do. If either of you are in a situation where somebeast is hunting you, it would serve you best to escape rather than try to take them on. Neither of you are very strong, and you probably wouldn't stand much of a chance against a beast that knows how to use a sword, even if you do learn how to hold it properly. There's no substitute for experience."

"But that's exactly why I asked you to teach me to _fight!_" Poko objected.

"I'm teaching you to fight to help you survive. This little lesson of ours is better than nothing, but it's not the same as years of training and live combat experience. If you can get away, then do it! No matter how good of a warrior you might be, if you get into a scrap you always come out with some sort of injury whether it's a bruise or a mortal wound – you can win a battle, but still die later. Out here, any injury can seriously decrease your chances of survival, and what might bruise a larger beast might break one of your bones. Best to stay out of it if you're able."

Nyika nodded soberly, proving to Zevka that she was the superior student, unquestioning and attentive.

Poko kicked at the snow with her next step and sucked in a sharp breath as her bandaged foot made contact with a stick.

"When you're confronted with an attacker, look for weak points," Zevka continued, "Like the knees, groin and even the thumb."

"The thumb?" Poko looked confused.

"Yes, if somebeast grabs you, the weakest part of the grip is where the thumb and fingers connect. Even with arms as small as yours, they're stronger than the tiny muscles in a thumb." The pine marten demonstrated by grabbing her own wrist then yanking it free using the strength of her forearm.

"Okay let's try it!" Poko shuffled through the snow to Nyika and seized hold of her wrist, grinning as she sunk her sharp claws into the cat's skin. Nyika yelped and tried to pull away.

"Don't pull back," Zevka advised, "That's the worst thing you can do – step toward her and then go against the thumb – it will throw your attacker off-balance."

Nyika did as instructed and Poko's thumb and fingers snapped together as the arm was yanked free. Nyika gave Poko a glare.

"What if they grab you with both paws and the thumbs are facing different directions?" Poko grabbed Nyika's arm again with both paws, one turned up and one turned down. Nyika tried to yank away again, but Poko held on, using all of her body weight to drag the cat's arm down. Nyika hissed, obviously not enjoying the training session.

"Hold on, this isn't…" Zevka was beginning to see that this was not going to work.

Nyika tried again to come forward and jerk her arm from the ferret when Poko relaxed her grip. The cat ended up bopping herself in the nose with her own paw and falling into the snow. Poko laughed loudly at the absurdity of it all, pointing at the distressed and snow-covered feline.

"Poko…" Zevka scolded tiredly.

"What – I didn't do anything! She hit _herself!_" The ferret shrugged innocently, then yelped in surprise as the wildcat plowed into her with a wicked hiss, piercing Poko's hide with her long, curved claws. The ferretmaid shrieked and sunk her teeth into one of the many bald patches along Nyika's arm in an instinctive attempt to free the hooks from her skin.

Abruptly, a paw seized her by the scruff and shook her until she let go.

"What _is_the matter with you?" The pine marten released the ferret, who also ended up falling in the snow, though more out of surprise than momentum. "Don't you know how dangerous a bite can be? Bites are more apt to become infected than any other type of injury! There's a reason why all combat sports ban biting – "

"But she started it!" Poko could hardly believe Zevka could be so one-sided. It was as though Nyika's attack had not even happened – as if Poko had nipped her out of sheer spite.

"No – YOU started it!" Nyika's back arched as she stood by Zevka's side, claiming the pine marten's protection.

It was such a blatant lie that Poko could not help but lunge at her antagonist.

"Enough!" Zevka placed herself between the two younger beasts, glaring fiercely at Poko's obstinance. "This 'lesson' is over."

Poko took a step back, showing her teeth. "FINE! I'll go ask _Cookie_ to teach me instead! He could beat you in a fight anyway!" She turned and ran through the forest along the path the others had used, brushing away tears. She wasn't really mad at Zevka, but obviously she'd fallen out of the pine marten's favor. She'd be offering no more candied crickets to the young ferret in all likelihood.

Poko's breath came hard as she jogged past a moping Gashrock and a surprised-looking Vanessa.

"Cookie! Oy! Hold up, wouldja?" she called to the older ferret, switching into a more relaxed vernacular now that she was away from the more sophisticated marteness. She heard a loud crack and a sighing whine behind her as Cookie turned and flew at her.

"LOOKOUT!" someone yelled.

Cookie's tackle knocked the wind out of Poko and she felt herself being carried through the air as a humongous pine tree crashed into the ground where they had all been walking a second before. The ground shook with the crushing impact, and several smaller pine branches lashed Cookie across the back like whips.

Once the snow settled again Cookie stood up and rubbed his back. "I'm likin' these pine trees less an' less. That's the second one tried to kill me since last sunset."

Poko, having caught her breath, stood up with him to survey the damage.

"Phew! Anybeast get nailed? If not – are there any volunteers?" He sniggered at his joke but Poko didn't seem to grasp the innuendo. She ran down the length of the tree, coming first to Gashrock who lay curled with her paws over her head.

"Gashrock – Are ya okay?"

The rat looked up at the ferret and then snarled at the fallen giant. "World itself seems to be against us, innit? Too unlucky iffen ya ask me! This was in-ter-ten-shun-null."

Seeing that the rat was her usual conspiratorial self, Poko hurried on past her where a snow-powdered Zevka was rising to her feet, dusting the white substance from her dark attire. Poko looked everywhere for any sign of spotty wildcat fur, but to no avail. Her heart leapt in her chest. Had Nyika been killed? She squatted next to the tree, peering down where bark met ice. Zevka too looked desperately around for traces of the other young beast.

"Is – is she – ?"

"Merrrow!" A plaintive and distinctively feline cry carried over to the pair from the other side of the tree. Poko scrambled up onto the massive trunk and spotted the wildcat, pulling at her ears and whiskers and trembling like the scaredy-cat she was. She had suffered not a single scratch on her hide that wasn't self-inflicted, yet she was whining like a pathetic baby.

"Do you see her? Is she trapped?" Zevka climbed up next to Poko, worry etched across her features.

Poko gestured at the wildcat as if presenting a specimen at a freak show. "Only in her delusions."

Zevka slid down to land beside the wildcat and reassure her.

A reverberating thump made Poko jump as the owl, Noonahootin, landed abruptly beside her, craning his neck to evaluate the condition of all his comrades. Poko's heart fluttered in her chest, having been doubly zapped by adrenaline. The owl was deathly silent until he was practically on top of her. It was unnerving. Poko knew he was a friend and ally in her mind, but her gut still urged her to flee.

"Guardsbeast Vanessa!" His thunderous voice made the ferret jump in her skin again.

"Aye, Cap'n…" The dazed otter looked up from the snowbank she'd leapt into.

"We need to regroup. Kindly escort those on your side of the tree to its base. I will find Corporal Istvan." He spread his wings with a wince, braced himself, and took off once more.

Poko looked at Vanessa, Zevka, and Nyika on the one side, then at the other side where Gashrock was examining Cookie's back. After a moment's pause, the ferretmaid slid down to join her fellow Dewhurst companions.

Cookie saw her come down and met her there. "Who else survived? Is Nyika all right?"

Poko froze, not daring to believe her ears. Had the cat won Cookie over too?

"Course not," she answered slyly. "She's never been 'all right.' Not in the head at least…" She smirked. For a split second Poko was actually afraid that Cookie was going to punch her. "She's fine! She's on the other side! Zevka's tending to her every precious need. There, ya happy?" Poko shuffled off toward the wider end of the tree where roots jutted and curled in every direction, still dropping bits of soil and snow. The giant conifer was halfway sunk into the soil, completely intact.

Gashrock came up behind the ferret and whistled. "That ain't right."

Zevka, Nyika and Vanessa appeared and gaped at the pit where the tree used to stand.

"How odd – the tree's not rotted at all." Zevka ran a paw across one of the huge strong roots. "It's like it just decided to uproot itself and tip over."

Gashrock shook her head, "T'ain't natch-rull."

"What is not natural?" Istvan came up behind Cookie, "Obviously the All-Mother is crying out for more sacrifice."

"NO," croaked a deep bass voice as the ground itself shifted and opened into a mouth. Vanessa yelped in surprise and Nyika hissed. Poko believed for a moment that the otter Istvan had been right all along, except that the All Mother was actually the _All Father_, and none too happy about the gender discrepancy. But then a head pushed through the dirt, followed by a mud-encrusted body. "This was neither nature nor providence." The shape stood and opened its slit-pupiled, amber eyes.

It was the toad.


	19. Up Jumped the Devil

**19. Up Jumped the Devil**

_By: Goragula_

Noonahootin was prattling on once again, and once again Goragula was not listening.

About two-score yards down the mountainside, a dark figure zig-zagged between the coniferous trunks that sprouted from the slope. The creature was tiny, and moving with great haste – had he been lighter on his paws, he might have slipped by unnoticed: but he stumbled and staggered and lurched as he went, barely able to carry his own frame, let alone the ungainly sack thrown over his shoulder. With every step, his weight swung haphazardly onto his right leg, its left leg trailing behind. The creature was injured – by the crows, perhaps? But then why would it run from the owl that faced them down?

Goragula narrowed his eyes.

The toad took a swift glance at Noonahootin, weighing up the contrast between the owl's steely talons and his crippled wing. He did not want to cross the Captain, but neither did he want to be there when the crows returned. Even an owl in his prime couldn't face down an entire pack of them. If they brought their brethren back with them, as they surely would, they would tear the old soldier apart. To leave now would be a wiser choice. As for Cookie – Cookie wouldn't notice a wasp if it flew straight down his windpipe.

Goragula turned from them and slipped away, following the dark figure. The slope was treacherous, ready to crumble beneath him if he so much as scraped his heel on the wrong stone, but his curiosity imbued him with a reckless haste. A steady pattern of scarlet droplets traced the path where the creature had trodden barely a minute before, shining like bright beacons in the snow alongside the dragging paw prints. Keeping his body close to the ground, Goragula inspected the prints and took in the scent of the creature's blood.

It was a mole.

The toad paused, unsure of his own conclusion.

Weren't moles honest, servile beasts, only too happy to babble on to complete strangers and ask for help whenever needed? What cause had it to run? More importantly – what was it carrying? As Goragula looked up, he saw it flit behind the shadow of a pine, then disappear. If it had noticed him, it hadn't let on. Goragula followed, picking his way through the bed of snow and needles until he reached the tree's base, where, between the knotted mass of roots, the wounded ground gaped into a freshly-cut tunnel.

Only minutes later, when he found even _his_ keen eyes straining to find their way in the overwhelming darkness, Goragula could not explain what possessed him to go down there. It was so against reason to put himself in such a reckless position. But this was different. Everything had changed, in the last day. He must be proactive. Just to _be_, was to be reckless. And the desire to unearth the unknown had always been stronger than the sense of fear and reason that had been drilled into him by a lifetime alongside hotbloods.

The tunnels were a labyrinth of mud, stone, and hanging roots, pitch black and stinking of mould. Goragula could only follow the mole's path by the scent of the blood that dripped from its wound, but every time he thought he came close, the creature managed to evade him. Then – the hiss and crackle of a match lighting, and the passageway was flooded with orange light. The mole couldn't be more than a few yards away, lurking around a corner. Goragula found him leaning against the earthy wall, the sack he carried slung to the floor as he choked and wheezed in an attempt to recuperate from the strain of dragging his injured leg. The mole let out a low moan as he touched the wound and brought his paw before his eyes, staring in horror at his own claws. In the flickering candlelight, the blood daubed over them shone redder than hellfire.

When he looked up, the tip of Goragula's knife was at his throat.

"That's right," Goragula said, as the mole's mouth hung open in shock. "Not a sound."

The toad grabbed the sack and upended it, scattering an array of nuts and preserved meat over the floor. Goragula grunted in anger, kicking the bag away. They were the very same provisions that the Guard had taken to sustain them over the mountains.

"Stealing from us, eh? Not very honourable behaviour."

"Leave Oi alone, ee gurt devil—"

"_Quiet_," Goragula snarled, smashing the hilt of his blade into the mole's cheek. The toad's calloused claws were clenched around his victim's throat, strangling out the scream that bubbled up from his chest.

"Raise your voice again, mole, and I'll carve out your tongue."

The mole forced a nod.

"Now then," said Goragula. "Here I was, thinking moles were such pleasant little creatures. Obviously I was mistaken. You witnessed the landslide – and instead of coming to our aid, you wait until we've all perished in the cold so you can steal our supplies. I want an explanation. Now."

The mole's voice shuddered from him in a barely audible croak. "You'm … allus be a-comin' on our land, ruinin' our crops, a-scaren' our babes. We doan't loike ee trespassers, s'all."

"And you expect me to believe that."

"Please," the mole choked, "There b'aint nothin' else to it."

"You must've known some of us survived, and yet you took our supplies – all of them, even the meat. What use could moles have for such things?"

The mole licked his lips, hesitating. "We be a-thinken' you'm all be dead. We jus' wanted t' toidy up our land."

"Never lie to a toad. We always know." Goragula took a long, steady look into the mole's bulging eyes. There was a protracted silence as he mulled over the creature's words. There had to be more to it than that. The landslide, the snowy owl, the crows, the moles – all coming in quick succession, as if each one were trying to recompense for the failure of the others to finish them off. Goragula tightened his grip on his knife as a thought struck him.

He did not know how many beasts out there wanted him dead, and frankly, it was a waste of time to worry about it. But this was not about him; this was all of them, and that was a harrowing thought. Why the Guards? The acting troupe, the children, all the motley merchants and their servants? Who would go to the trouble of –

For once in his life, he was lost even for thoughts.

"What else are you planning for us?"

"Nothen', zurr, nothen'!"

Still gripping the mole's throat with one hand, Goragula gave a hefty pat to the deep gash on the creature's thigh. "Nasty wound that. Perhaps I can help clean it up." He slid the knife's tip under the mole's skin and twisted the blade only a fraction of an inch. The mole gurgled in horror as the skin buckled and began to peel back.

"You will tell me everything you know," the toad said, slitting upwards. A thick strip of skin dangled from the mole's thigh, exposing the raw flesh below. As Goragula's knife hovered above the wound, ready to start again, the mole began to tremble, his eyes rolling in a blind panic as he waited for a second blow that never came.

They were many beasts out there who liked to think themselves skilled at the art of 'extraction' – but who always pushed too hard, too soon. They thought it was all about the pain. They had no idea of the mind's defences, which Goragula had seen first-hand. Some creatures had an astounding capability to shut themselves away from consciousness when the trauma became too much, their minds drifting away to a calm, safe place where the agony of reality was nothing more than a far-away droning. That was why beasts screamed, but still did not speak. Fear, on the other claw – the mind has no weapon against fear. To give a beast a sharp taste of agony, and then to leave them hanging, waiting endlessly for more until they could stand it no more, was the real skill. That was the key. Not pain, but _anticipation_.

Goragula held the strip between his finger and thumb, dragging with just enough pressure that the skin was on the brink of tearing. The mole took a sharp intake of breath, hissing through the pain. "Th' tree! Ee gurt pine – above 'ee. We be a-diggen' up ee roots, t' make et fall an' block th' way."

"What else?"

"All along 'ee road – agh – sink'oles, an' – lan'sloides – stop, stop!"

"Tell me," Goragula lifted his blade, his eyes glinting with menace. "_Who has put you up to this?_"

Terrified though the mole was, the question seemed to startle him, even anger him. Goragula's vicelike grip around his throat suddenly meant nothing. With an almighty wail, the mole thrashed his entire body in a desperate attempt to throw the toad off him. Like a beast possessed by demons, he took no heed even when Goragula's knife plunged into his thigh – he lunged forward, his digging claws raking through the air and straight into the toad's outstretched arm. Three scarlet gashes flashed in Goragula's flesh for a single heartbeat before they filled with blood, and by instinct, Goragula shot his hand to staunch the flow. The mole broke free, stumbling to the ground under the weight of his injured leg.

He made a last ditch effort to shriek for help, before the toad's fist cracked against the back of his skull. Goragula felt the shock reverberate through him, a jolting pain rushing from his knuckles through to his shoulder-blade. The toad pulled his hand away, his claws seizing up as every bone from his wrist downwards began to burn with a deep, excruciating throbbing.

The blow had dazed the mole enough to buy him some time. With his good hand, Goragula seized the knife, grabbed the beast by the scruff of his neck, and slit his throat. He dropped the corpse face down into the mud and stared at it, the bloodied knife if his paws trembling as his arm coursed with adrenaline.

Then the entire passageway began to shudder, the muddied roots that dangled from the ceiling dancing a giddy jig above the toad's head. A few startled shouts – then the distant rumbling of the mole's companions as their footsteps began to pound down the passageway. They'd heard their friend's screams, and they were coming straight for him.

Goragula seized the sack of provisions, and ran.

The last thing Goragula had expected when he came to the tunnel's opening was to find the rest of the survivors waiting for him – and the last thing he wanted was to hear the otter taking the opportunity to assert his opinion on the situation. The toad hauled himself from the ground, panting heavily and flopping onto the nearest perch. Somehow, down there, he'd sent the moles down the wrong passage, but it wouldn't be long until they came looking for him on the surface.

"This was not nature, nor was it providence."

Istvan glared at the toad in shock. "What?"

"It was moles," Goragula said, flexing the ligaments of his injured hand with a pained hiss. He heard Cookie give a derisive snort and mutter something about tunnelling stoats.

"Why would moles do such a thing?" Istvan said. "The All-Mother—"

"Look around you," Goragula snarled. "It's Winter. I'm sure your precious All-Mother has better things to worry about than upending trees on unsuspecting travellers."

"That is _blasphemy_," the otter said, his neckfur rising and his paw shooting towards the ornamental blade belted around his waist.

"Don't worry, Greenfleck," said Zevka with a derisive laugh. "He says that to everybeast."

"Does he now? I'm sure I can cope."

Before Istvan could retort, the sound of beating wings filled the air. Noonahootin landed between them, eyeing Goragula with distaste.

"Kind of you to join us, Greenfleck. _Where_ have you been?"

Cookie grunted. "Runnin' away from crows, like I said."

Noonahootin held up a wing to silence them, his stern glare fixed upon the toad. "I shall handle this. You do realise you abandoned us to face the crows alone? That is extremely dishonourable behaviour. Explain yourself."

"I went to investigate the mole's tunnels." Goragula looked at his own mud-spattered body. "If that wasn't already evident."

"And you did not think to inform me?"

"You're the Captain of the Guard, not of me. I work alone."

The owl harrumphed at that. "You insubordinate little- HMPH! Don't you realise we're all in this together?" the outraged owl spluttered, stomping a foot and then wincing very quickly. Seething, he breathed deeply and calmed himself. "What did you find?"

"They've been stealing our supplies." The toad hauled up the sack of provisions. "All of it – even the food they cannot eat themselves. Look. They're trying to sabotage us."

The rest of the survivors gave a murmur of surprise, the vermin growling to themselves while the Guards tried to fathom what cause these strangers could have for attacking them. It was evident none of them would ever have expected such cunning from hillside simpletons. Nor had Goragula.

Zevka leaned forward, her muzzle once again adorned with a smirk of intrigue. "Damn good work you've done here. There's more to you meets the eye, isn't there, Mister Greenfleck? I wonder how many merchants would have gone into those tunnels all alone."

Something in her flattering tone raised Goragula's suspicions. "Did you expect me to be afraid of the dark, Miss Blackbriar?" He gave a short laugh, then gestured at Poko and Nyika. "Which of you two is younger?"

"I am," the ferretmaid snapped before Nyika seemed to even have registered the question. Without a word,  
Goragula tossed her the sack and the ferretmaid caught it. She stared at in surprise before diving into it and cramming as many strips of salted meat into her mouth as possible. A few lonely nuts rolled to Nyika's footpaws.

Noonahootin raised his feathered brows in surprise at Goragula's behaviour, but the weathered Captain continued to press in on him. "You think they're trying to sabotage us? Why? How did you find this out?"

"I found an injured mole. He had stolen that sack, and tried to run."

"And you spoke to him?"

"I did."

"Spoke to him?" said Istvan. "That's a lot of blood for just 'speaking'. The Mother does not appreciate your casual spilling of her gift of life."

Goragula thought he caught Cookie flash a sly grin at him, but was in no mood for games. Another lance of pain shot through his fist as he clenched it. "Bloody hell, otter, do you ever shut that pompous trap?"

"Quiet!" Noonahootin boomed. "I can't hear my own ruddy thoughts. Whatever happened down there, I need to know exactly what is going on. Do you have proof, solid proof?"

"That they're trying to sabotage us? Yes. I fought the mole, and questioned him; he told me himself that they were planning to fell this tree. And so they have. They're underneath us now, and the road ahead is bristling with traps. They want us gone, and we can't even see them, let alone predict what they might do next. Do not underestimate them. He wasn't like any mole I've ever met. Could barely even walk, and still went for me like a madbeast. That's why I'm covered in blood, Istvan. I risked my damn life for you lot down there." Goragula suddenly stopped, realising that the thick, sibilant accent was creeping back into his voice as he raised it in anger. He fell silent.

Noonahootin frowned, staring at his own injured talon. "Then my suspicions are true." He looked up, his eyes filled with sudden excitement. "And what else? Did he tell you _why_ they are taking such interest in us?"

"I don't know. He said we were trespassers, but I don't believe it. I think something more is at play here."

"Yes – but what?"

Goragula had no answer, and Noonahootin sighed in disappointment. Zevka took the opportunity to speak up.

"Could they have a grievance with Yew?" she said. "With the Guard? For that matter, have they done this before? I seem to remember hearing about a least a few other groups that just went off into the mountains and never came out. 'Gates, those are just the ones from Yew – if any went out from Carrigul and didn't make it, we'd never know about it."

"I must confess; I did know that such things had happened before," Noonahootin said. "Flax did not want me to mention it, to keep morale high, you understand. But there have been other expeditions. Some were found among the remains of other rockfalls. And others –" here, the owl ruffled his feathers as if iced water was trickling down his spine – "others have not been found at all. If what Greenfleck has said is true, then we are all in grave danger. We must get away from the road at once."

"This seems entirely ludicrous. How could the All-Mother let this happen?" Istvan said, more to himself than to anybeast else. The expression on his face now was not of his usual self-satisfied superiority – it was frightened, even mournful. At that moment, Goragula almost pitied the poor fool, blinded as he was by his own stoic delusions.

"That's because fate could not stop any of this," the toad said. "There can only be one explanation. Somebeast put them up to it. I don't know who. But I know it."


	20. That Which Does Not Live Can Never Die

**20. That Which Does Not Live Can Never Die**

_By: Istvan_

Istvan remembered sixteen seasons ago, when the bottom dropped out of the world and he was thrust into the swirling void alone. He had been young then, possessed of the heady self-confidence of youth that helped him know that his path was right and his choice was just. The otter was older now, and experience had tempered this arrogance into bedrock faith worthy of a saint. He had felt no small amount of pride in his ability to ignore the distractions of the world in favor of the truth of the All-Mother, and considered his belief to be utterly unshakeable.

Then in five minutes a mud-covered amphibian had shattered that assumption and sent his mind reeling. It wouldn't do to let the group know this, of course. They all thought him an idiot, but he would not humiliate himself further with this... momentary lapse. The otter walked stiffly away until he was out of sight of the others, then sat down with his head in his paws.

Moles. He had been played for a fool by _moles_. The landslide had not been a judgment of the Mother, but the action of a greedy bunch of tunnel-grubbers. Rather than restoring the balance of life, it had just made everything worse. The beasts in the convoy's sacrifice was necessary, of course, but the moles had offset all the good of it. A landslide born of the Mother would have been a condemnation of the sins of the beasts in the convoy, but the revelation of its true cause cast that in to doubt. If this was not the will of the Mother, how could he be sure that their deaths were right? Had they really been undeserving? If death was truly so capricious, how could he really know that their death and his life represented the guiding paw of the All-Mother?

"Are you all right?"

Istvan nearly jumped out of his fur at the quiet, frightened query. While he was engrossed in his thoughts Nyika had followed him in to the location he had thought secluded.

"Completely fine! I am as always a rock of sense among you blasphemers," answered the otter, his voice noticeably shriller than its normal monotone. "Don't you have better things to do than creep around beasts who want to be alone?"

The cat sat down next to him. "You're not alone. Not with all those haunts who follow you around. Do you even know their names, all these beasts you've killed over the seasons?"

Istvan sighed. "Do you have a reason for following me, other than to disparage my faith? I have heard that question so many times before it has become tiresome. Of course I do not. Do you remember the name of every beast you have ever known? I... help them. That is what matters."

She looked askance at him. "Are you sure you're all right? You're shaking."

Ignoring her question, the otter turned to face the wildcat and asked her, "Tell me, if you truly can do what you claim: what do the spirits say of the All-Mother?"

Nyika seemed to pause for a moment to think, looking Istvan over with wide, searching eyes that disquieted him more than he would admit.

"Why do you ask that?"

After a pause, Istvan replied, "So that I can know if you are telling the truth. I of course only ask this to ascertain if you are a barefaced blasphemer."

Nyika's tail swished in annoyance. "Then why ask me? Whether or not my truth is irrelevant; I know what I'm about. Do you? Truly?"

"Because you may be something great! A miracle unseen since the long-past glory days. If you are real, I want to see you achieve your full potential and be a beacon of light to believers."

"I'm no beacon of light," she said, casting her gaze to the snow. "Why do you think you need one, if you are so sure in your faith?"

The otter scuffed the ground with his boot, then threw up his paws. "Because I have suffered seventeen seasons of being shunned because I chose what I know is right. Because I have never managed to convince another beast that this is true. And to think that I could be wrong..."

"Why is your faith so important to you?"

Istvan sighed, and after a moment of thought, said, "It's all I have."

Nyika closed her eyes, hesitating. Then she spoke. "I have heard the dead talk about her, the All-Mother. What, I cannot discern, but they do speak of her."

The otter wasn't sure why, but following those words he lifted the wildcat up in to the air and squeezed her tightly until her miaows of distress brought him back to his senses.

"I'm sorry," he said, setting her down. "I'm not sure what came over me."

"It's okay. We should probably be getting back to the others though," replied the cat.

She began walking back, Istvan trailing her. His head was now awash in golden light, the dark fog that had briefly enveloped it lifted. He should not have even thought of doubting the All-Mother. She was all-knowing and all-powerful. If she used rather... unconventional pawns to help restore the balance of life, it was not the concern of her loyal priest. His duty was to carry out her will, not question it. As long as he did so, she would continue to shower him with grace.

He needed all the grace he could get at this point, he thought as he rejoined the others without them acknowledging his presence. This ice fishing represented a serious challenge not to his spiritual well-being, but his physical body and the Mother's continued use of it.

The fact of the matter was, Istvan did not know how to swim.

It was a fact that rankled him every time he thought of it; an otter unable to use the Mother's unique gift to his kind. It was like a smooth-backed hedgehog, or a stupid fox, or a mole that could not... perhaps it was best not to think about moles for the time being. But the point still stood: he was a failure to his species, and he did not deserve the blessings the All-Mother reserved for them.

On the other paw, what reason did he have to worry? The Mother had saved him from a landslide, surely she had some other purpose in mind for him than to die in a frozen lake soon afterward. He would have to trust her will, as he always had.

"So tell me," he asked Gashrock as they clambered on down the slope again. "Where did you learn to sew skin as easily as you do cloth? You did quite a fine job on Cookie."

The rat shrugged. "It ain't easy. Reckon I learned on Poko, sort of, but Cookie ain't a whiner so even if I'm a bit rubbish, he'll say it's all right, just for a lark. Though Mum an' Dad'd be right proud, I reckon. Searats are always moanin' about needin' to be patched up. Only I didn't think they meant it all literal, like."

"So that's all you know of the healing arts then? Not, say, what to do if somebeast's lungs fill with water?" Istvan scratched his scarred arm nervously.

"No. I think Zevka said that she learned somethin' like that at that fancy Ak-a-derm-y of hers. Why?"

"Guardsbeast Vanessa and I are going to be diving in an unfamiliar, dark, frozen lake. If we come out entirely unharmed it will only be by the grace of the Mother," he replied, ignoring the reference to the pine marten. He had his pride.

"Yer otters. Ain't yer built fer this kinda thing?" said Gashrock incredulously.

The group reached the shining plain of ice that was to be their larder, and began gingerly stepping on to its slippery surface. Istvan looked away from the rat to help Nyika when she seemed about to fall, and noticed that Poko shot him a dirty look when he did so. He did not understand the hostile relationship that seemed to have sprung up between the group's two youngest vermin, but the ferret had at least been somewhat receptive to his talk about the eternal destiny of her parents. He would have to speak with her about that later, preferably when her older, scarred guardian was not around.

Turning back to Gashrock, he continued, "It's nothing to do with that. The Mother would not appreciate the life of her most loyal priest being thrown away in a probably fruitless effort to acquire some small amount of food."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself," cut in Zevka. "To be perfectly all right with the rest of us starving because you want to preserve your precious little life. Are you sure that this is because of your invisible friend, or are you just a coward?"

Not dignifying her jibes with a response, Istvan stalked away to where the remainder of the Guard had gathered.

"Ah, Corporal Istvan. Good of you to join us," said Noonahootin. "Guardsbeast Vanessa and I were discussing how best to make a hole for you two to dive through."

The tattooed otter swallowed, then drew his knife. "Of course. I will first ask the All-Mother to bless this endeavor, and grant us protection and success."

"Do so quickly then, Corporal. We have mouths to feed."

Istvan knelt and stared across the frozen lake. He extended his arm out, and drew a thin red line on it with his blade.

"Mother," he whispered, "You know the heart of your truest follower, and he does not demand favors of you. All I ask is that if it is your will for me to survive this trial, may you shower your grace upon me... and my companion."

He watched the crimson splatter on the ice in silence. It reminded him of broken glass covered with the same precious liquid, piled on a tray next to a reclining figure who screamed curses at the world.

"You plannin' to sit there all day, Inkpan? Get over 'ere and 'elp me with this boulder." Cookie's impatient demand cut through the otter's reverie.

The ferret was struggling to lift a large rock that lay by the shore of the lake. Istvan found it odd that such an obviously strong beast could not do it on his own. That stomach wound of his must have been more damaging than he let on. So the old fighter had at least one weakness, then. That would be good to remember for when it came time for him to pay for his crimes.

The pair's combined strength managed to lift the stone and awkwardly shuffle back over to the group, where with a great effort they heaved it above their heads and then let it fall. It crashed through the ice with a loud splash that showered the otter and ferret with freezing water. Istvan jumped out of the way, biting back a curse. Cookie didn't bother to restrain himself.

After a fruitless effort to shake himself dry, the tattooed otter stepped back to the rim of the hole. The dark mouth stared back at him. He shivered, and not from the cold.

"Yer lookin' a wee bit green in the gills there, Inkface."

For the second time in an hour Istvan started violently.

"Why does everybeast find it necessary to sneak up on me today?"

Vanessa snickered. "Ah dinnae know aboot any other beasties, but et would do yae good to be shaken up a bit. An' ye stil havenae told me why yer lookin' at that hole like a scared kit. "

"I suppose..." the otter sighed. He had no choice, did he? Vanessa was going to be down there with him, and she might well be his only chance of survival. "I suppose you should know this, though I would appreciate you not shouting it out to all and sundry. The truth is, I was never taught how to swim."

She stared at him, then broke into incredulous laughter, her sarcastic voice ringing out loudly.

"Och, 'an otter who cannae swim. Noo Ah've seen everythin'. Wot's the matter, were ye so interested in learnin' about 'ow tae bleed other beasties that ye didnae bother tae learn anythin' else? Mah faither taught when Ah was a wee babe!"

"Yes, well, some of us were not so fortunate as to have that opportunity," he hissed back, a move he immediately regretted. By the grace of the All-Mother, why did her words have to provoke him like that? The events of seasons past were just that, and would remain so.

"I apologize. That outburst was impolite of me. Please, I am not in the habit of begging, but I will tell you this: if you help me to survive this endeavor, I will owe you the greatest of all possible debts. The life-debt, that same sacred debt that the Mother carries for all of us. Nothing will stop me from assuring that the obligation is repaid."

"Bloody 'gates, yer really scairt, ain't ye? Dinnae worry laddie, Ah'll hold yer paw. At least, ye better hope Ah will. Hahahaha! "

That was that, then. Nothing left but to consign himself to the paws of the All-Mother. And those of Guardsbeast Vanessa.

Istvan thought wistfully of bodies strewn across a mountainside, and wondered why life couldn't always be so simple.


	21. Fire and Ice

**21. Fire and Ice**

_By: Vanessa_

Nessa could feel her heart pounding steadily faster as she stood gazing at the wide hole that had just been shattered through the heavy ice. The dark water below was still sloshing around its edges, swirling with chips of ice, stark reminders that this wasn't the small woodland lake near Yew where Captain Fern had often taken his daughter in happier days. Trying to shake away the shiver that went up her back at the thought of diving in the jagged mouth of ice, Nessa stole a glance at Istvan who was standing a few feet behind her. A smirk immediately crept into her features: the self-righteous prick actually looked frightened! _Huh, fer all that fuss aboot the protection o' the "All-Mother", he's doesnae seem tae have much tae say noo, does he?_ She shook her head, the smirk growing wider as she drank in the sight of the brawny, tattooed otter trying to inch away from the hole with an almost pleading look in his eyes. Suddenly, the dark apprehension that had been pooling in her chest was gone- this was going to be fun.

"Sae, who's ready fer a wee dip, eh?"

The little group of creatures gathered around the hole backed off a few feet, conspicuously leaving Istvan facing the younger Yew Guard. She grinned. He glared helplessly around before attempting to pull himself together.

"It appears that I will be joining you, Guardsbeast."

The reminder of her lower rank did not go unnoticed as the ottermaid leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, taking vindictive pleasure in the words.

"Remember this, laddie; oop here ye may be a Corporal but doon there yer just an otter who cannae swim, ye ken?"

Out loud, her voice was only a touch less taunting.

"Weel, Ah'll show ye as we go along. But first, we need tae git rid of this."

Istvan took a step back looking rather flustered as Nessa' uniform slipped off, leaving her in her slim-fitting tunic.

"_What_ are you doing?"

Nessa paused, looking at him like he was wrong in the head.

"Stripping, o' course. Ye'd better start too, Ah'm nae goin' tae hang aroond waitin' on ye."

The other otter's look was rather hard to read.

"Stripping? I..."

Nessa continued cheerily.

"Or ye can go in fully dressed an' sink like a rock. An' if that doesnae kill ye, paradin' aboot in a freezin' wet uniform will."

Istvan seemed to see the sense in that, for the male started divesting himself of his uniform. Meanwhile, Zevka was slowly backing off, smiling in a way that was not quite reassuring.

"Come on everybeast...let's give these two some 'alone time...' At least they'll be keeping each other warm..."

Halfway through ridding herself of her tunic, Nessa paused, the marten's comment registering.

"Wot...? Och ye.. ye didnae dare! Ye bottlebrushed, snake-tongued, spit-nosed... slanderer! Ye've not heard the last of this, Zevka!"

Under her fur, the ottermaid was beetroot red, though it wasn't clear whether it was from anger or embarrassment- or both. She swept up the thin layer of snow settled on the ice into a tightly packed ball, launched it directly at Zevka and scored a direct hit on her neck, stopping the marten's laughter short. But her satisfaction lasted just until Cookie's wry baritone reached her.

"I wouldn't feel bad steering her rudder, if y'know what I mean."

"Istvan an' Nessa sittin' in a tree..." An impudent voice piped up from Poko's general direction as Nessa ground her teeth savagely.

"Will ye stop et, bunch o'... Who was that cat-callin'?"

"Don't look at me." Nyika's face was the picture of innocence- but the ribbing continued, most of it from a certain ferret who was going to have a very bad day as soon as she could get her paws on him.

"Think it looks good now, wait'll she comes out of the water!"

"Hell's fang, Corporal, ain't you just as handsome as the jill!"

This was just unbearable. It didn't make it any better that Istvan looked just as embarrassed as she did- more so, in fact. The male Guard seemed to be at loss where to look and she had a sudden, unreasonable itch to punch him on his tattooed nose. She ignored it and slipped her last item of clothing off, shutting her eyes tight against the whistles and calls.

In an attempt to calm herself, Nessa closed her eyes, recalling her father's long-ago lessons on swimming in cold water. _Calm your mind, focus on your breath and feel the air going in and out. Then fill your lungs slowly and slip in._

"Oy, when the kits come around, can I name them?"

A furious growl slipped from her muzzle as Nessa's footpaw stamped the ice so hard as to cause a small spiderweb of cracks, any semblance of calmness vanishing instantly. Realizing that the longer she stood out of the water, the more she was exposed to the jibes, the irate ottermaid threw breathing exercises to the four winds and plunged directly into the hole, her not-so-smooth dive sending a wave of freezing water to soak Istvan.

For a second, she was only aware of the overwhelming _cold_. The dark substance surrounding her didn't feel like water. It felt like a snake, winding around her body, crushing her breast, paralyzing her muscles, trying to squeeze a gasp, a yell, any loss of breath from her. Panicky, Nessa kicked out, her natural reflexes taking over as she used all four limbs and rudder to propel herself somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was warmer. After a few seconds, she could think again and opened her eyes. Freezing water was rushing past her muzzle but it couldn't reach her any more. Her warm blood felt like fire as it rushed through her veins, sending a thrill throughout her entire body. This was what she was meant to do. This was her element.

Suddenly, she remembered Istvan. Executing a neat half-turn, the ottermaid looked back at the small circle of white light above her, just in time to see it obscured by a large shape. Istvan sunk for a good five feet, thrashing violently, before he seemed to galvanize his limbs into a sort of frenzied paddle. From her underwater vantage point, Nessa winced. If she hadn't completely believed him before, she did now: Istvan was a terrible swimmer. If she didn't do something to help, the ridiculous specimen of an otter wouldn't last much longer.

Adopting a slow, steady swimming motion, Nessa approached the other otter, motioning with one paw that he should watch her movements. Her cheeks flamed briefly at the thought of the implications- if only she was stuck underwater with somebeast other than a despicable officer who was wrong in the head. Not to mention slow on the uptake. He wasn't doing the rudder and body movements at all right and Nessa's patience was quickly running out. She waited just until she saw that he was able to muster a vaguely directional swim before giving him a curt nod and a wave towards an other part of the lake as an indicative that they should split up. Then Nessa shot off downwards with a flick of her rudder.

The deeper the ottermaid went, the murkier her surroundings became. It was a world of shifting shadows, everything shrouded by dark curtains of water, including the fish she sought. There was still air in her lungs to last a while but the cold was beginning to seep in again; it was starting to be dangerous to stay down but Nessa stubbornly kept searching, green eyes straining to catch a glimpse of something alive. All of a sudden, something silver glittered in the corner of her sight. It vanished into the gloom as soon as she spun around but Nessa knew she'd found her quarry and sped off after the elusive glimmer, cutting through the water like a pike on the hunt. The fish was swift but so was she, and soon she could see it darting frantically through the water. Her mouth was just inches from closing around its tail fin when something big and dark distracted her attention from the fish, just enough to let it slip away into the gloom.

It was Istvan. In the instant that she saw the still shape slowly sinking in front of her and felt the slight shift in the temperature around her, Nessa understood. The lake was fed by a small spring of melting snow- but she hadn't seen the outflow anywhere. The lake must have had an outlet underground, creating a current flowing down to the depths of the lake, a current which Istvan had obviously encountered in an attempt to return to the ice hole.

Nessa paused, suspended in the water. She hated Istvan. She hated his arrogant, condescending manner, the way he looked down upon her like she was a piece of dirt he had to tread upon on his heavenly path. She hated him for taking away her only chance at being a second in command and proving herself as a leader. He was unnatural and cold and judging and nobeast would blame her if he drowned down here. But in that instant, she knew: she couldn't let him die. That wasn't who she was.

Powering herself upwards with several thrusts of her rudder, the ottermaid intercepted Istvan's downward spiral, thrusting herself directly into the cold current that was dragging the male down into the depths. Istvan was unconscious or almost so and struggled only feebly when she grabbed his paws, leaned her shoulder into his chest, and gave a forceful surge upwards. She was running out of air and the instinctual urge to survive gave her the burst of energy she needed to swim free of the current's deadly embrace.

Bubbles burst from her mouth as Nessa strained to carry the dead weight of the much larger otter upwards. Her lungs were burning, only one thought occupying her mind: air. With her last fading consciousness, she focused solely on the small circle of white light growing steadily larger above her... larger... brighter... until with an almighty whoosh, her muzzle broke surface, sending all her senses reeling back as she gulped in air. She had made it.

And she was angry. The first few gasps of invigorating air seemed to fuel a burning irritation inside her and she threw Istvan roughly from her shoulder unto the solid ice. Ignoring the confused shouts of the others, Nessa hauled herself out of the hole and without quite knowing what she was doing, threw her entire weight into a violent punch to Istvan's chest.

"Ye... ye bloody... _idiot_!"

It was a wonder none of his ribs cracked. A spout of water spewed out of Istvan's half-open mouth and he coughed hoarsely. Nessa leaned forward, panting, and met Zevka's inquiring gaze.

"Ah didnae get any fish."


	22. Frozen Flame

**22. Frozen Flame**

_By: Nyika_

Panicked and restrained in Cookie's arms, Nyika squirmed as Vanessa hauled Istvan from the icy depths of the frozen lake. With an awkward twist the wildcat broke free of her bonds, claws splayed as she skittered on the ice. She slipped and fell and cracked her jaw but just as quick she was back on her feet, sliding next to Istvan's prone form.

"Is he alive?" she gasped. Her jaw ached but she ignored the pain.

"Does he look dead tae ye?" Vanessa barked. "Hackin' an' mewlin' like a kit—"

As if in answer, Istvan coughed and turned, spilling half the lake's contents at his side.

"You saved him," Nyika said to Vanessa, her eyes wide and glimmering.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. "Dinnae remind me."

"No, seriously." She paused, her ears swiveling back as she heard the others gather around. She dropped her voice to a hush. "Did you see them?"

Vanessa furrowed her brows. "Who?"

"His ghosts!" Nyika breathed. "They followed him into the ice. I saw it! They were keeping him from surfacing."

"Ahh, nay." Vanessa's paw rubbed at the back of her neck. "The addlebrained buffoon cannae swim. Nae even wet behind the ears. Disgrace tae the otter race, if ye ask me."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You're wrong. I saw them. They followed him in the ice."

Vanessa's face was a mask of confusion. "Wot are ye talkin' aboot?"

"Nyika thinks," Zevka started, but caught herself at the cat's glare. "Nyika says Istvan's haunts followed him into the water. You know, the ones who he's claimed to have made atonement with his Mama-Dearest."

Poko snorted, and Nyika's fur bristled at the sound. They were mocking her. The cat's paw opened up, claws unsheathing as she flexed her digits.

"Oh!" Vanessa shook her head. "Ah dinnae see any ghoosts."

"Then why were you down there so long?" Nyika half shouted, rounding on the otter. "Why did you have to pull him from the ice, near drowned as he is?"

"Because like Ah said," Vanessa said, rearing up and raising her voice to match the cat's. "The daft fool cannae swim!"

"They followed him down there. I saw it. I tried to warn him."

"You did," Istvan said. They all turned to the male otter, who was shivering with his arms wrapped about his legs on the ice.

"Then why did you go down there?" Nyika yelled. Her paw clenched into a fist, her arm shaking from built up energy. She wanted to strike him.

"Because I knew the All-Mother would protect me." It was spoken matter-of-factly, but Nyika could see past the lie.

"No," she hissed. "You wanted to see if she would." It was all she could not to claw his eyes out. He had made a fool of her.

"Are ye all idiots?" Vanessa shouted, breaking the rising tension between the two. "He got caught in the current, is all. There were nae any ghoosts."

Nyika scoffed, turning on Vanessa with a demeaning tone. "What kind of current flows in a lake?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes, adopting an air of self-righteousness. "Have ye nae heard o' springs, lassie? Snow roonoff from the mountainside? How d'ye think this lake got here?"

Nyika opened her mouth but nothing came out. A flush had risen to her cheeks. Suddenly the ice and chilled evening air didn't seem so cold anymore.

"Oh," she said quietly.

Poko laughed, a sudden outburst of stabbing condescension that set Nyika's blood boiling. With a feral hiss, the wildcat launched herself on the small ferret. Poko screamed; everybeast else shouted. Suddenly Nyika was swinging in the air, her tail ducking between her legs as she hung at Cookie's paw by the scruff of her neck.

"No," he said firmly, and flicked her nose. Nyika shut her eyes tight, wincing from the pain that shot down her muzzle. A trickle of blood left one nostril. There was a loud, splintering crack, solidifying everybeast for one terse moment before Nyika found herself falling.

She hit the ice with a thud and it crumbled beneath her. There was no room for thought as she submerged in the icy water, the weight of her clothes pulling her downwards, the freezing temperatures seizing her body and limbs in a vice-like grip, pressing on her lungs, forcing her to exhale and scream. Willing her limbs into compliance she swam, but in what direction she could not tell. She had been turned around somehow, dragged by a surge of water she could not fight against. Her eyes opened in fear, but Istvan's ghosts were nowhere to be seen.

She panicked then, her limbs thrashing as she tried to free herself from her watery grave. She was going to die down here. She was going to drown. They always said drowning was the worst way to go. The pain was excruciating.

Desperately, Nyika fought to keep herself alive but she was running out of time. Her lungs ached, her chest tightened. She needed to take a breath. She could barely feel the paw that grabbed her, barely feel the way it pulled her up. Her ears popped and the light above grew brighter.

When she broke the surface, she gasped. Four paws were grabbing at her, spilling her out upon the ice and then they abandoned her. She curled into a ball, gasping and shivering but coherent. So that was what it felt like to drown. Wrapped up in her little shivering ball, Nyika paid a whole new respect to those that passed beneath the waters. She had survived it. She could not imagine the agony of those who had not.

"Nyika," Zevka said, the pine marten looming over her. "Can you move?"

Nyika shivered. "No."

"Come on, we need to get you out of those wet clothes."

Helping the wildcat to stand, Zevka led her away from the ice towards the shore. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cookie crawling away from the hole, cold and in pain. It was her fault—her fault he had nearly died. She knew now it had been his paw who grabbed her, his paw who brought her to the surface. Nyika gritted her teeth. She was always relying on somebeast else; never able to take care of herself. Placing her paw on Zevka's shoulder, she pushed the pine marten away. Zevka opened her mouth to protest, but the glare the wildcat shot her silenced any words that would have come forth. Nyika walked forward, stumbling, but able. She could do this; she was not a kitten to be coddled.

Noonahootin, Greenfleck, Istvan, and Gashrock were huddled on the shoreline, the seamsrat hitting two strikers together above a pile of pine kindling. It was short order before she had a fire, the sap from the needles providing good fuel to burn.

"Nyika, come here, you're soaking wet." Zevka said.

The wildcat shivered as she turned her head to see Zevka holding a blanket. She nodded, stripping of her ice cold clothing and wrapping herself in the soft, dry blanket. Gashrock had built the fire to something substantial, and Nyika scooted herself close to the flames. Nessa and Istvan were drying themselves off, Cookie was wrapped in his own blanket, Zevka and Poko sat side by side, Noonahootin was preening his feathers, and Greenfleck sat glaring at every one of them.

"So what happened, Nyika?" Poko's sneering tone cut through the wildcat's chill. "Did the ghosts drag you down, too?"

Nyika's heart quickened in her chest, her fur standing on end despite its sodden state. She hated the ferret. Hated her with a fiery passion that left her warm and dry inside. A vicious shiver wracked her body.

"Poko, be quiet," the pine marten breathed.

"No! I saw them! I swear! They followed her down there! Didn't anybeast else see? Took poor Cookie with them, trying to reach her!"

"Poko," Zevka tried again.

"Your mother was a whore."

Despite how quiet and reserved Nyika's voice was, everybeast heard her.

"Nyika." Zevka glared. "Don't."

"What did you say?" Poko said.

"Your mother was a dirty, filthy whore," Nyika said.

"Be quiet," growled Cookie.

Poko's face twisted as she rose to her feet, her body rigid and fangs bared. "You take that back."

Nyika turned to the ferret, lolling her head to hang at its side. "Oh, you don't believe me? Let me consult my crystal ball." Scooping a pawful of snow from the ground Nyika held it out before her, peering with intensity at the misshapen mass.

"Nyika," Zevka hissed. "Don't you dare."

Ignoring the pine marten's warning, Nyika pressed on. "I see ... I see a ferretmaid, a dancer in her prime. But what's this? Her mate has turned away from her. A new ferretmaid has caught his eye, younger and prettier, and he'd much rather play and tussle with her than spend time in the sheets with his aging mate."

Poko stared wide-eyed at Nyika, her body convulsing in quick, short gasps. Next to her, Zevka growled, rising from her seat and marching over to the cat without another word. Before Nyika realized what was happening the pine marten had swung a wicked left hook at her head. Pain exploded in the cat's left eye, but by the time she had recovered Cookie had leapt forward, his fists laying like twin hammers on Zevka's unprotected body.

"You don't touch her!" Cookie roared.

In a flash Istvan was between them, holding Cookie at bay with his knife pointed at his throat. Zevka whimpered in a crumpled mass on the ground.

"She deserved it," the pine marten said between moans. "She shouldn't have said that about Poko's parents."

"Aye," Cookie said, his voice low and dangerous. Shoving Istvan away he rounded on Nyika, arms shaking with pent up rage. "Don't you be disrespectin' Des like that! Say another word and I'll tan your hide so hard it'll come right off of you."

Picking her trembling self up from the ground, Nyika narrowed one eye at Cookie—the other had swollen shut. She was livid. Poko, Zevka, Cookie, Nessa, Istvan—they could all burn in Hellgates, every one of them. It was too late now; the wildcat's temper had run away from her, taking control of her tongue and leaving her mind to watch in horrified awe at the destructive wake that followed.

"But Risk … Mr. Cutter." Nyika paused, letting his true name fall upon the group. Risk jerked, glancing at the owl. "Far be it from you to lecture me on how to disrespect a beast."

Risk bristled, sputtering as he towered in front of her, his paws flexing back and forth into fists. He took a step forward, then looked away from her.

"I need to widdle," he said, and stalked off.

"What else do I see?" Nyika said, drawing another clump of snow in her paw. She scanned the group, settling on the toad. "I see a merchant … a rat, but it's a false skin. His heart is made of coal, and ice runs through his veins. Behind him stands Death, his associate and servant."

Greenfleck remained unfazed, his composure calm and collected as he answered the cat. "Am I somehow connected to this merchant you speak of? I don't know what you are talking about."

"What do you know of Goragula, my cold-blooded companion?"

The old toad's smug smile fell from his face.

"Enough!" Noonahootin shouted, breaking the spell the wildcat had cast. "Miss Nyika, I'll not have you tearing this group apart when we have only ourselves to rely upon."

"As you wish, Captain," she muttered, tossing the snow into the fire. It did not have the same effect as salt, but it would suffice.

A tense silence followed, disrupted only by the hissing fire and the shuffling of uncomfortable beasts. Gashrock took this time to rifle through the sack Goragula had recovered.

"Well, I dunno about anybeast else, but I'm hungry. Let's see wot kind of pro-vi-shuns we got 'ere." A wide grin split her face. "Oh look, fish."


	23. The Righteous and the Wicked

**23. The Righteous and the Wicked**

_By: Goragula_

She knew.

The little wretch knew.

The blistering pain that seared through his claws, the drilling emptiness in his stomach, the thoughts of moles and conspiracies – all were suddenly forgotten. Goragula felt nothing but a cold, surging rage, bristling beneath his skin and quivering in his throat as he stared at the young wildcat who had torn through his lies with a single flick of her tongue. _"What do you know of Goragula,"_ she had said. She'd butchered his name, spitting it out like the common urchin she was and stripping it of all the honour and ancestry carried in the deep tones of his mother tongue.

Every muscle in the toad's body clenched with fury. How she had found out did not matter. It was done now, and he had to pick up the pieces. If she really did know everything, she hadn't said explicitly that _he_ was Goragula. He could work with that. That was as it had always been. Only his most loyal – or unlucky – clients ever met him face to face, so that the humble toad Greenfleck could walk in public while the faceless Goragula remained a mysterious whisper trembling from the tips of merchants' tongues. He knew he could recover from this. Of course he could. What his mind reeled at was _why_.

How could anybeast be so stupid? If she'd known the truth all along, then she must know what he was capable of, what he'd do to her. She'd know he would tear out her tongue with his own claws if he had to.

Goragula stood, his wrist still shaking in anger, as the others composed themselves and Gashrock merrily went through the provision sack. He could do nothing but stare at Nyika. Somewhere, the sound of Zevka and Noonahootin's reprimands drifted to him, echoing like the drop of a pebble through water, and as his temple throbbed Nyika's movements slowed to a blur. Her ears sunk down, her pupils grew wide, and every hair on her tail stood on end, but her terror seemed disjointed, unreal.

At least she knew what she had done. Gradually, the toad managed to control his fury, blinking away the red haze.

"And to think we had somebeast as dangerous as Risk the Cutter among us!" Noonahootin was bellowing. He pointed a talon at Poko and Gashrock. "And the Players were aware?"

"Aye," said Gashrock with a shrug. "He just preferred to keep quiet about it."

Noonahootin quivered with rage. "Nyika, how did you know this?"

Before the wildcat could answer, Gashrock continued. "That'uns easy. Before the road collapsed, we were all sayin' that there was somebeast creepin' around at night, listenin' in on us all. Looks like we found the culprit."

Nyika bowed her head as Noonahootin rounded on her. "Do you have any idea of the danger your silence put us in? Something must be done about Risk. We cannot travel with the likes of him. We may as well have Ferahgo the ruddy Assassin in our ranks! As for YOU –" the owl now turned to Goragula, who shrank away from the predatory bird. "You have some explaining to do."

"No explaining," he said, straining to keep his voice calm and even. "I don't deny that I've done business with Goragula. Nearly all merchants in these parts have. If that offends our young kitten, then perhaps she needs to see more of the world."

Nyika opened her mouth and closed it again as the toad fixed her with a stare that could only have one intent. Behind her, Zevka squeezed her claws into the wildcat's shoulder and arched an eyebrow at him. He glowered back, then sharply turned on his heel, stalking away to go back to his reveries at the campfire. Let them think what they liked. He wasn't going to be dragged into their squabbles by the slanderous words of a maid. There were more important things to be considered –

Which clearly would have to wait. Again. The toad let out an exasperated sigh as he saw who sat hunched over the flames.

Istvan. The otter was still shivering like a lost child as the glacial water clung to his fur and gathered it into shining black spikes. As Goragula approached, he pulled his tattooed muzzle back into a menacing snarl.

"I heard what Nyika had to say about you." The flames spurted skywards as Istvan's eyes flashed with unbridled hatred.

"Did you."

"I know who this Goragula is; what he does. How long you were expecting to keep up your pretense of innocence?"

"I'm sure you do," the toad said, sitting opposite Istvan. With an air of nonchalance, he inspected his injured paw, pressing between the knuckles with his thumb and then flexing his claws back suddenly as a shot of pain darted through his tendons. He hissed out a curse. "Goragula has many contacts, but few who know his face. Because I do, Nyika assumes that I have some kind of special involvement with him. Not the case. I only have to borrow from time to time." He looked up at Istvan, smiling slightly. "As we all do."

The otter narrowed his eyes, clearly distrusting every word he heard. "Did you ever consider that to fund a sinner is to sin yourself?"

"I did not, but I'm sure you'll take great delight in telling me all about it."

"It's easy for beasts to sit and mock when they have no duty but to themselves."

Goragula couldn't help but feel a strange sort of respect for the otter's unyielding self-confidence – the toad had never once seen him flinch at a jibe, or hesitate to reply in an exacting, formal tone that no doubt carried the seal of approval of his beloved 'All-Mother'. It was admirable, really. He leaned forwards, his mind swarming with questions. "You know, Istvan, I've been wondering about you. I'd like to know where you got your values from."

"So that you can mock them with everybeast else?"

"No need to get prickly. I only ask because I've never met a hotblood with such beliefs before."

Istvan cocked an ear, not missing the toad's coy tone. "What does that mean?"

"You never thought that, when the fierce cold of winter endures even through the months of spring, that a lizard, or snake, or a toad might lose hope? That he might start to pray for warm rains? And when they come, that he might believe those prayers have been answered?"

It took a moment for the otter to follow him.

"You – _you_ believe in the All-Mother?" His voice was incredulous, barely above a whisper.

"No," Goragula said with a stiff laugh. "Not me. But my family did, long ago – or at least, they had their own version of it."

"There is no other version," Istvan said sharply. "Anything other than what is taught by the High Priestess is heresy."

Something in his haughty reply angered Goragula, and despite himself, despite all the years away from –_ that place _– all the years of learning and civilisation and structure – he felt a twinge of ancestral loyalty deep within him. "You do realise my kind had their beliefs long before you had yours."

Istvan only looked perplexed. "How could your kind know the truth of the Mother without the High Priestess? Do you mean to suggest that the first Priestess was taught by _toads_?"

"Perish the thought, eh? More like she heard the Old Beliefs and adapted them to suit herself."

"That is a heinous accusation," Istvan said with a sudden growl. "Do you have any proof to back up your blasphemy?"

"No more proof than you," Goragula said. He closed his mouth, noticing that Istvan's paw was twitching closer and closer to his knife. The toad backed away, glancing at the blade as it reflected in the firelight. "You ought to watch yourself, Istvan," he said. "I think there's a good reason there are few who follow your beliefs. You don't exactly endear yourself to others."

"And you do?" the otter scoffed. "I'm not here to gain their favour."

"Then you're going to get yourself killed."

Istvan did not even blink. He folded his arms, tilting his head back to glare down his snout at the toad. "If you think I'm afraid to die for what I believe in, then you really have no concept of the meaning of faith."

"Oh, but I do. If the All-Mother's last priest is killed over some petty quarrel, who would be left to preach her word? Mark my words, Istvan: carry on as you have been, and your beliefs will be butchered alongside you." He paused, eyes glinting as he tried to gauge the otter's inscrutable reaction. "Then who will be around to do the Mother's bidding? With that in mind, perhaps it would be wise to be less hasty in your accusations of others."

Satisfied that the seeds of doubt had been sewn, Goragula left the otter to chew at his knuckles and ponder in silence. He moved away, pulling his cloak tighter about him as the warmth of the fire slid away from his body. The rest of the group were struggling to build a crude shelter from the damp wood strewn around the ground, but Risk had not yet returned, and Zevka had disappeared. Goragula's eyes darted between the rest of them, looking for Nyika, desperate to know where she was; what she was thinking.

But the elusive wildcat was nowhere to be seen.

"What was all _that_ about?"

Goragula whirled with a jolt of shock, his claws flashing towards his knife at the sound of Zevka's sharp voice behind him. The marten's paws were firm on her hips, her feet square on the ground and her collar thrust out in her same old ever-proud stance. He growled in annoyance.

"Is it the done thing nowadays to listen in on everybeast's conversations?"

"Why in Hellgates would you encourage him like that?" Zevka's low voice betrayed the tension hidden between her usual composure.

"I suppose I feel embarrassed for him."

"Hm," Zevka snorted. "I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that."

"Miss Blackbriar, if you'd actually paid attention to what I was doing, you'd see that I was trying to undo all the damage you've caused with your constant antagonising."

"Damage?" She tossed her head with a cluck of disbelief. "He needs some sense knocked into him –"

"He has no fear of death. He actually relishes the thought of being a martyr. Do you have any idea how dangerous that makes him?"

"Of course, I do," snapped Zevka, "but –"

"The way everybeast has been provoking him only makes him feel vindictive. He'd have no reservations at all about throwing his life away, if it meant he could take a few of us down with him. The only way to stop that happening is to convince him that, for his dear Mother's sake, he needs to stay _alive_."

Zevka looked thoughtful for a moment, then folded her arms, regarding the toad with a cool smile. "You really are a schemer, aren't you, Mr Greenfleck?"

"It's not scheming to actually try to stop beasts from killing me."

"As I've seen, you're quite good at it." She glanced behind him, and Goragula turned, to see Istvan still glowering at the pair of them from his haunt by the campfire. Moving towards the forest's fringes, Zevka gestured for the toad to follow her. "We ought to get away from Inksnout." In silence, the pair walked until they were wreathed by the shadows of the black canopy, completely out of the sight or earshot of any of their company. As Zevka took a deep breath, Goragula smirked. He knew an imminent proposal when he saw one.

"I've been meaning to talk to you for a while," she said.

"Go on."

"Well, I'd already figured out that you might be more than some ordinary merchant. Especially after the incident with the moles. Not everybeast would have the courage to do that. Or the initiative."

"Cut the scat, Blackbriar," Goragula said. "What do you want?"

"Risk was right about you – you _have_ civilised yourself, somehow. Don't think I haven't heard your accent change when you let your guard down."

"How astute of you."

"I want to know who you are. Who you really are." Her mouth twitched into a smile, revealing her wicked canines. "Nyika was right about Risk, so I'd wager she's right about you too. What's your connection with Goragula? Do you work for him?"

The toad narrowed his eyes, undercutting her with a caustic sneer. "How do you know who Goragula is? Perhaps you've read about him, too?"

"Actually," said Zevka, ignoring the jibe, "my boss has mentioned him to me. He's told me he's a rat, a money-lender. Quite a powerful one at that."

"Your boss?"

"Beechton Valash. Perhaps you know him."

Goragula did not reply for a few seconds.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Is there something funny about that?"

Of course he knew Valash. Pretentious little upstart. "Only that it's a small world. But yes, Miss Blackbriar. You could say I work for Goragula."

"And am I right in thinking you've been sent to Carrigul by him?"

He nodded.

"I need to get to Carrigul too. There's somebeast there I need to find." She sighed, glancing away to double-check that nobeast was listening, then mustered her most serious tone. "Listen, I want you on my side, Greenfleck. Let's just say that I like the way you get things done. If anything, it'll be good to have another pair of eyes to keep check on Istvan. There may come a time when something has to be done about him."

"I think we're in agreement on that one," Goragula said.

"He seems like he's under just enough control for now, but that could change. What if the owl dies, or gets sick, or goes off on his own for a few hours too long? Noonahootin's the only beast who can really control him – I don't know if Nessa can. Risk could take him in a fight, but he keeps disappearing. We can't rely on him all the time. And after what happened to me with Risk –" the marten winced at the memory – "Well, I'm not underestimating muscles like that. If Istvan gets too brazen, we'll need to be proactive. Though I doubt either of us could beat him at a fair fight."

"Who said anything about a fair fight?" Goragula said, with the most innocent of smiles.

She laughed. "Well, exactly." The pine marten leaned away, the secretive note in her words now gone. "In the meantime, perhaps I can do some things to help you. I can help to keep you warm and fed, and so on. In return … well, I'm not asking for anything right now, but if we got out of this alive, maybe you can return the favour." She paused, pondering exactly how to express her terms. Eventually, she settled on, "I may need a little help when we get back to Yew."

He understood her perfectly.

They were interrupted by sudden shouts from the distance; it was Vanessa and Gashrock, calling for Zevka to help set up camp.

"We'll talk more about this later," she said, before she turned away. Goragula waited, knowing how suspicious the others would find it if both of them appeared at once. As Zevka's tail swished away, the toad was lost in thought, unsure whether to find her exuberant determination to get her own way admirable or irritating. But perhaps he had underestimated her cunning.

At the very least, she was a beast he could do business with.


	24. In My Time of Dying, In the Evening

**24. In My Time of Dying, In the Evening, In the Light**

_By: Risk_

_~ In My Time of Dying ~_

Risk lay on his side, wrapped in his damp blanket, and drooled into the dirt as he stared at nothing. The shadows had lengthened and swallowed the woods, and no one had come for him. He reached out a paw and tapped his claws along the edge of the pool of blood on the ground. It had been cold for some time.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Someone must have finally noticed and cared enough- sticks snapped in the dark as someone moved through the trees. He made no attempt to get up. He could smell the fish, dried, but warmed by fire. From the toad's loot, then.

"Drew the short straw, eh," he wheezed.

"No. I just wanted to... to get away from the others," said Nyika. She settled down somewhere behind him and began building a fire. "And I brought your clothes, but they're not dry yet. And some fish for you to eat..."

"Don't want it."

"You don't like fish?"

"I like fish, I just don't want it." Risk grunted and groaned as he rolled over to face her. "You can eat it."

"Why don't you want it?"

"I just don't."

Nyika stared for a moment at something above him, squinting her good eye as it dashed back and forth.

"Is it because you got in a fight with a searat and he hit you with a fish and now eating fish reminds you of that?"

"No..."

"What are you...? Oh, neat." Her eye focused on him again. "Is it because you once fought a Whoomer and now fish remind you of Whoomers?"

"Ahh... no."

"Is it because you nearly drowned as a kit and-"

"Because I got a bleedin' hole in my guts! From gettin' stabbed near through with a bloody pine tree! Alright? You happy now?"

"No..." Nyika's eyes glistened. She hugged her knees. "Because you snapped at me..."

Risk's scowl melted into a buttery grin. Sitting up made him cough and sputter, but he swallowed what came up, for her sake. He sidled around the fire to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"Hey, hey, hey, rainy face! Hey, proud warrior. Let the sun come out, you big bad hordebeast. You know, kitten, we all have permission to make mistakes. It's called learnin'."

"You're not mad at me? For... what I said earlier?"

"Nah. You're alright, Nyika. It was still really bloody stupid, mind you."

"Istvan wants to kill you..."

Risk snorted. "Just him?"

"Mostly him. Captain Noonahootin wants to bring you back to Yew... Nessa said she wanted to kill you for other reasons, but that having you around might be better than not, if the moles or anything come back. Gashrock's worried about you, but Zevka says you just need time alone. Poko says you must've drank the whole lake if it takes this long to wee."

"Somethin' like that, hah." He tried not to look at the pool of blood. The fire only barely illuminated the edges of it. "How're you holdin' up?"

"Oh, everyone hates me. My arm hurts. I can barely see through my eye, and I'm tired of putting snow on it. I'm tired of being cold. I want to go home."

"You'll be fine."

He tousled her ears. She gave a yelp as he suddenly squeezed her nicked ear. He leaned in close, pinching it tight, until his nose was rubbing her cheek fur. He'd never gotten close enough to see it clearly before.

"What was that for!" She pulled away from him, ears clamping to her skull, paws cupped around them for protection.

"You've got a nick in your ear. Nickear. Nyika."

"You didn't have to grab it... or call me that..." Her eyes narrowed, and with a petty little mew, she zipped forward and poked a claw at his stomach wound. "Splitgut!"

The young wildcat flew backwards, flumping into the snow before Risk realised what he'd done. He scrambled on all fours to her side, grabbing at her shoulders to help her back up. She flailed at him, claws raking his cheek. He twisted his head back out of range and moved his paws to her wrists.

"Be still! I don't want to hurt you again."

There was a nasty sort of _pop_, and a screech: "My arm!" Risk let go, scooting back, his tail fluffing, his blanket sliding off his back. He grabbed it and wrapped it tightly around himself, before anyone else came. Hopefully they were far enough away not to draw any attention. He had to fix this.

"Nyika, hold still... Your arm's come out again. I can put it back."

"Don't touch me!" She hissed and spat.

"It was an accident! Don't move!" He pinned her down, stopping her from rolling away. Her back legs came up and booted him in the side of the head in quick jabs. He shut his eyes and focused on his paws, finding her dislocated arm. It was the one she wasn't using to claw his eyes out with. He gripped it and began twisting it, rotating it in its socket until- there! He shoved. Nyika whimpered. Her jaws were clamped tight around his tail- how had that happened? He maneuvered her arm back into its sling for her, and pried himself free. He only managed a few steps before stumbling and falling over face-first into his damp clothes.

They lay still for some time, panting and moaning in harmony.

Risk moved first, dragging himself back to Nyika. He sat up and put his paws under her arms, and she made little fuss as he pulled her upper body over his lap and cradled her head. He let his nose dip down into her neckfur, and slowly breathed in her scent with a sigh. He was going to miss this. Had.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Me too. Does it hurt?"

"Which?"

Nyika placed a paw on the stain beginning to seep through the silk sash around Risk's stomach.

"No," he said, spitting blood into the dirt. "It tickles like ants carryin' feathers."

"Oh. That's interesting."

Risk waited a few seconds before looking down at her again. Reading her expression was as hard as one of Pyracantha's scripts. So, like the scripts, he decided not to bother trying.

"Of course it hurts."

"I meant, it's interesting that you joke about pain. You don't seem to be very bothered by it. Does it help you cope?"

"Nyika... anybeast ever tells you there's a trick to dealin' with pain... punch 'em in the eye an' ask them if it still works. Only thing I know about pain's how not to show it. Gets beasts too riled up. They think you're weak, they either worry too much or want to kill you faster. That's near to copin' as I can get."

"How often does it hurt?"

"Every bloody second. Like somebeast's pourin' Hotroot soup all through me, end to end."

"You should have died," she whispered. "They're holding it together, inside. Keeping you alive. All your ghosts- they want you to suffer."

Risk grinned. "They're that scared of me comin' to see 'em again, eh?"

"They don't fear you anymore."

"So they're just sick-minded b-" Risk bit his tongue. Not in front of her.

"What was that?" Her ears flicked forward.

"B...b...bogeybeasts?" He offered. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, Nyika... I need to tell you somethin'... an' I ain't sure how to say it."

"It's okay," she said, affronted. "I'm not a kitten. I know swears."

"Aye. Your first word was a swear. Ah, actually, your first five... Look, I'm just gonna blurt it out, an' you don't have to believe me or nothin', but... I'm your pa."

Nyika's mouth twitched side to side, as if struggling not to smile.

"I kicked you pretty hard, didn't I?"

"Hard enough, don't make it any less true. I gave you up to the foxes, to Vera. There were assassins after us an'-"

"I think we need to get you back to the others." She struggled to sit up. "Zevka needs to look at you."

"I'm fine, just listen-"

"You're delusional, Cookie. You heard me talk about my family last night in the cave and you're just working that into what you want to believe."

"You never mentioned Margot."

Nyika's worried grin fell away. She scampered closer to the fire and began licking her injured arm. She was listening. Risk tried another name.

"Or... or, what was her name, the one with the limp? Beatrix."

"Auntie Beatrix..."

"An' you remember those twins you sometimes played with? Dank and Sere? An' their father, Hoc? Come around every summer for a week or two, when the caravan was in the southern end of the woods? They ever tell you stories about a ferret named Risk?"

"There's lots of stories about him... there's the songs..."

"Their stories were different than the songs. Newer."

Nyika stammered. "That's true..."

"I never came back with them, because I didn't want to see you grow up. You were so small- I carried you for so long, I didn't want to lose those memories, have 'em replaced by somethin' else that wasn't my... my little kitten."

Something in the woods cracked and scampered away- Risk ignored it. Someone had been listening, but he wasn't inclined, nor in any shape, to go chasing after them. Nyika's ears were low, and she stared unwinking into the fire, her iris small and still.

"The Captain asked you if your mother died givin' birth," he said. "She didn't. I was there, Nyika. I... she didn't die givin' birth. She never gave birth. The nick in your ear..." He found his knife among his clothes and held it up to her. "It was an accident. But I got you out. Only... you didn't make it. Your mother didn't die, Nyika- you did."

"I didn't die," she whispered. "I didn't die."

"Only a few seconds. I don't know how... your heart stopped beatin', but I kept pushin' on it, givin' you air, an' somehow it started again."

"And my mother?"

"She was... she was dead long before... She never saw you. It was just me there. Me, an' then you. An' that's the way it was, until I had to give you up. To protect you. Vera must've told you somethin'. I told her not to tell you my name- didn't want you havin' that over your head so young. But she must've said somethin'."

"No, she didn't. But I knew... she had something she wanted to say. Who were you both protecting me from?"

"Ah... your father..."

"So... you?"

"No, see- your mother's husband. She was, ah, not entirely true to him- or, or so he thought. An' he... I was told to follow her an'..." Risk coughed again, and the fit went on for a while. He clutched his stomach and sat on his haunches before hacking out something that looked more like it belonged in the Captain's stomach. "Ugh... where was I?"

"'Follow her and'..."

"An' kill them both, aye."

"Did you?"

Risk sighed. He looked straight into Nyika's eyes, shut his own, and nodded. She slapped him, her claws again raking his cheek. He smiled, savouring the sting.

"I've been waitin' for that one for sixteen years..."

_~ In the Evening ~_

When he opened his eyes, she was gone. He turned his knife over in his paws, touching the blade to his chest now and again. The cold metal stimulated something, gave his lungs the extra energy they needed to draw full breaths.

It wasn't right. A lifetime of spilling blood, yet he had seldom lost so much as he had now. Revenge had never been neglected. What was he to do now, chop down every pine tree on the mountain? Or burn them- yes, and melt all the snow as well.

"Ah... Freya- do I finish the job?"

The knife rose from his chest to his neck. Satisfaction was lost on foliage. It was right that something breathing be given the honour- and never could it be said Risk the Cutter had not taken revenge against those who wronged him, even himself.

Except...

"That'd be the coward's way out, Yellowbelly."

Gashrock came out of the darkness and sat down across from him with a bag in her lap. She held her paws and tail up against the fire. Risk lowered the knife.

"Gashy... So who was it ran off? Poko?"

"You keep a lot of secrets, Cookie. All that true, what you said?"

"Aye. She's the one I told you about. My little Nickear."

"Gonna comp-licate the nare-uh-tive, innit."

Risk shrugged. "You don't have to put it in."

Gashrock threw a few more twigs onto the fire, and tossed him the bag. "Thought you might want your stuff. Saw Nyika only brought your clothes. Don't think there's any comin' back for you, you know... after what them Yew lot were sayin'."

"Aye, I figured as much. It ain't her fault. Zevka must've told her... Don't go trustin' that marten too much, Gash."

There wasn't much in the bag. Just the rat skin, which no one had wanted to hang up and which was beginning to smell a little funny, various rocks and knicknacks from his pockets, a ribbon that had fallen off Desdemona's dress, and the jar of candy. Risk rubbed the ribbon against his nose. It had lost her scent.

"So what are you gonna do, Cookie?"

"I don't got much choice. I got a plan, but you ain't gonna like it."

The rat shrugged. "If I ain't gonna like it, what're you tellin' me about it for?" Risk gave her a lopsided scowl and a squint. She tapped her chin. "I reckon there's enough things tryin' to kill us it could be made to look like an accident. Poko could distract the owl long enough to get you close to Istvan-"

"Oaw! I ain't killin' them!"

"Oh. So what, then?"

"Well, I was thinkin' the opposite. No! No, not myself. But, you see, every good ballad's about somethin', right? I mean, the really good ones. The ones beasts sing when they ain't drunk. Heroes, Gashy. Good ballads are about heroes. An' that's just somethin' I've never really been. I always thought dyin' in bed was the way to go... old an' grey an' incontinent. Well, be as it may, I ain't gonna last long enough for that. So I figure, second or third best..."

"Right, but how are you gonna find a dozen female ferrets and a stoat all the way out here?"

"Ah... right, well. Hm. Fourth best."

"I don't know I heard you say what that was."

"That's because I ain't never thought about it until today. Somethin' the owl said to me..."

Risk took his knife and began etching something into the wooden lid of the candy jar. Gashrock watched him in silence. He paused and looked up at her, frowning.

"Mind if you come take a look at this? I ain't sure..."

Gashrock obliged. She took the jar from him and studied what he'd done.

"Well, first off, 'Eon' ain't a word."

"That's 'For'. I wasn't sure how many lines go this way off the first one."

"Ah. Well, your _R_'s gone all long in the tooth, too. So, what, you don't know how to spell Zevka?"

"No, Nyika."

"Your _N_ is sideways. Looks like a _Z_. I can-"

"No, I want to do it."

"Alright. Nyika. Nyika... Hm. Nyika. Nnnnngyah-_aye_-kah, or summat. _N_, You got that. Now, the ngyah... ummm... let's just move to _I_, that's a line with a dot. _A_, that's two lines goin' like this." Gashrock tipped her paws together. "With a line between. And a _K_, that's a line with a sort of _A_-shape comin' out the side... yeah, near as makes n'matter. And I reckon another _A_. Oh, well... that's a _V_, er. Nah, it's fine, Cookie."

"An' how do you spell 'An''?"

"And with a _D_ or An as in 'an apple'?"

"I don't know! It's for Nyika an' Poko."

"Alright. Another _A_- try to get it upright this time, like that, aye. And _N_... oh... Not _O_, _D_! It's like a half-_O_ with a line. I just- nevermind. Poko, then? That's easy. _P-o-k-o_. So a _P_ is like... sort of a _D_, but not really... the half-_O_ is smaller an'... alright, you got this."

Risk proudly held up the jar and admired his first written sentence.

Eon Zi∀ʞ∀ AzƢ ƥoʞo

"Looks good, Cookie. So what's your plan?"

Risk told her. Gashrock nodded.

"One more verse for the ballad," she said. "It'll be a good one, Cookie. You'll be proud of it."

"I reckon I will be. You best get goin' now. I want to be alone for a bit, got things I need to tend to. Come back in a while."

Gashrock nodded again and left him. Risk took the branches of several trees and began pruning them, making crooked javelins. He hardened just one tip in the fire- there was not time to treat the others, or even do the one properly.

With the sticks that were not cut out (oh, that was a clever one) for the job, he built a spit and hung his clothes to finish drying. He debated on wearing the moleskin cloak, or the fresh rat pelt, and though he appreciated the poetic justice of the moleskin, he doubted anyone would appreciate being saddled with the rat pelt, nor would they know exactly how to keep it clean and preserved. So the rat pelt it was.

He slung it over his shoulders, tied the arms off around his neck, and folded the cloak on the ground beside the fire. He placed his knit cap and knife down over it, and stole a few candies before placing the jar between them. He shut his eyes as he savoured them all at once- one peppermint, one caramel, and one black liquorice, because even candy makers had hatred in their hearts. He spent the next few minutes taking those out of the jar, so nobeast else would suffer. It was probably the most considerate thing he had ever done.

He could hear Gashrock returning now, this time making some noise to alert him, and not wishing to say goodbye, he stole away into the night with his javelins, the bundle tied with Desdemona's ribbon.

He could barely see in the dark. Twilight had come and gone, leaving him nearly blind, until the light of the group's fire began to filter through the trees. He slowed his pace, to catch his breath and keep his steps silent as he circled around them.

He nearly walked straight into Noonahootin. The owl, even with his wounds, was a dangerous predator, and had landed in silence. He barred the path with his wings spread wide.

"And where do you think you're sneaking off to, so ill-dressed, 'Cookie'?"

Risk didn't raise his head to meet the owl's eyes. "I don't want any trouble, Captain."

"No beast does. That does not mean they do not deserve some, once in a while."

"I'm not comin' back."

The owl took his time to respond.

"That may be for the best. Do answer my question, however. Where are you off to?"

"I'm not leavin' this mountain." Risk put a paw over his bloodstained silk girdle. "That's all you need to know."

"That is not enough, Mr. Cutter. You are under my care as much as the rest, if not more so. You are my responsab-"

"If I see Prosecutes, I'll tell him how proud his old pa is."

Noonahootin lowered his wings. Risk passed him by without incident.

_~ In the Light ~_

The trek back to the fallen tree was grueling. Risk sputtered and coughed constantly, and wished he had taken time to appreciate Nyika's fire as much as he had her warmth. He was doing this for her as much as for himself, if not more. There was not to be a beast on this plane of existence who had tried to harm her and gotten away with it. Zevka had learned her lesson, but those who dealt in death were to be paid in death. That was always the order of things. He had not forgotten his debts, but he had others to collect first.

They'd killed everyone he knew or cared about. They'd killed Des. They'd tried to kill Nyika and Poko. They were killing him. They were due.

It was perhaps by sheer luck that he found the tree in his current state. His footpaws were numb from the cold and his whole body rattled, as if there were nothing between his bones and the frozen shell of his skin. He found the hole and crawled into it with great care. What little light the night sky gave was soon gone.

Risk ambled down the tunnel, rubbing against the walls as much as possible. Greenfleck had found mud somewhere- it would serve as warmth as much as camouflage. His fur would shine like gold if the moles had any light.

And they did have light, didn't they? He'd seen the flash, back in the cave. A trick of his old eyes, he'd thought, but the others had seen it too. So he'd decided it was a curious flicker of their fire, some reflection off someone's blade or other. Not so, after all. He should have smelled them. Were it not for the toad, he would not have attempted to sleep with pine nettles in his nose, and he would have known...

The tunnel was blocked. Of course it was.

Risk put his javelins aside, lay on his back and dug. An awkward position, but not half as painful as the other way. He was just happy it was not snow this time. The soil was loose, though as he cleared a Risk-shaped hole, he began to encounter larger stones. It was a shoddy rush job on their part, and there was nothing he couldn't move aside. He slithered through without room to spare and reached back for the javelins.

With whisker and nose he navigated his way down the tunnel. The scent of toad and moles diverged- he followed the moles'. The toad would have kept himself hidden, stayed out of the main thoroughfares. Things gradually became firmer. He was heading the right way, toward the heart of the mountain. His free paw brushed the walls, once in a while encountering open air, and a draft from the room would ruffle his fur. He seldom stayed long to explore these places, which he reasoned were barracks of a sort, all filled with rough beds. Either abandoned homes, or the army was out.

There! Unmistakable- alcohol. He followed his oldest instinct, sought out the friend who always welcomed him back. It was guarded, but they fled at his coming. No matter, there would be little time for sneaking after this. The room was packed with supplies, all the scavenge he and the Captain should have found, piles of clothes, sacks of food. It didn't pass through the ferret's mind to try to bring this back to the tree for the others. He rooted around in the piles blindly, sorting more with his nose than his paws. He focused on the smell of sulfur, and found a small box of matches. With this light, he crafted himself a torch, and filled a bag with the most inflammable liquors he could recognise. He guzzled a cheap bottle of whiskey and roared into the crook of his arm as it burned its way down his throat and through his stomach. The stain on his silk sash spread further.

Now he was ready.

He took his arsenal back to the tunnels and jogged on, his torch showing the way. Let them see and smell him, he had no need to sneak any more. Let them come. Let them run.

Sure enough he heard the rumblings of their voices, always growing distant, retreating from him. Here and there a tunnel would suddenly be closed off with an earth-rattling slam of debris, leaving only a dusty residue in the air. He was being diverted, and he knew it. He doubled back, taking a corridor he'd previously passed by. The alarm could only be spread so fast- he just had to be faster. There couldn't be very many junctions... could there?

The scent of fresh bread slunk into his sinuses like a street thief taking refuge in an alley. Perfect. Things were going his way again. From here on out, it would only get Riskier.

Then suddenly they were behind him, whispering, closing in. He took a bottle and smashed it on the ground, then lit it. He saw them flinch and shield their eyes with their arms. He kept going.

The kitchens were empty. He trashed them as best he could, burning sacks of grain and anything else remotely dry. Smoke began to obscure the low ceiling and clog his lungs. He reveled in the heat, laughed and spat blood, choked and fell to his knees, blinded by tears. No, no, not yet- not like this. He picked himself up and trudged on.

The moles were waiting for him in the dining hall. He caught a few orders, thought he heard the word "flank"- but with moles, who knew? He didn't give them time to organize further. He set the sack of bottles alight and whirled about, flinging it into their ranks. Lumps of fire rolled between the trestle tables, others racing off down corridors.

One came at him, claws swinging, head burning. Risk dropped the torch and readied his javelins, slipping the ribbon off the bundle with a quick tug, letting the extra ones clatter to the ground. He got it in the neck, and the flimsy weapon snapped. He gouged the other end into the mole's eye. It had only scratched him once before it fell, silent and bright. He retrieved the ribbon and wrapped it around his wrist.

He looked up at the remaining few who were still standing, and grinned, holding his arms wide.

"Well? Do you really wanna... _risk_ it?"

They ran. He grabbed his weapons followed. It was a bottleneck strategy. Three in a row, they blocked the way, waiting for him. He didn't stop. A slingstone clipped his ear, another shredded his cheek, a third cracked a rib. He tackled the two to the right, transferring the javelins in each of his paws to their chests, his size making up for his weapons' weakness. The third latched onto his back, and he slammed it into the wall before reaching back to grab the greasy, velvety fur of its neck and drag it off him. His fists made short work of the mole's face.

There were three more. They rushed him, clobbering with clubs, keeping him pinned down. The moles were no fighters, but farming and tunneling had given them strength, if not accuracy. He couldn't breathe and his back was quickly numbed by the blows. He reached out, feeling for ankles, pulled one down and began biting his way up. A broken bottle found its way into his paws, and he sliced and jabbed until the warmth seeped up to his neck and shoulder. The bottle cracked in his grip. The two bludgeoning him stopped and tried to haul him off- they merely succeeded in helping him to his footpaws. With his paw full of glass, he turned on them and dealt twice as many blows as they had given him.

With six dead and dying moles for company, Risk finally sat down. He wept like a kit, unable to cradle anything- everything hurt. Everything was bleeding.

The tunnel faded from sight- not to black, but to a foggy grey that pulsed with whiteness with his heartbeat, until eventually it stopped and the whiteness grew and grew and became everything.

"Risk..."

"Des? Des... that you...?"

She was tugging on his wrist.

"Get up... Wake up, pa..."

"Nyika... Leave me alone, I'm tired now. Let go, let me go..."

"My proud warrior, my big bad hordebeast..."

"Freya...? No. No, it should be Des. It was her I..."

"Risk...! Wake _up_!"

With a grunt he leaned forward, grabbing at the ribbon as it trailed out of his claws. He reached forward and wrapped his paw around a neck. Thin, weak- an adolescent mole. It gurgled and flailed at his arm. A distant chatter of voices suddenly stopped, and a stifled shriek echoed down the corridors. Risk pushed himself off from the wall, getting on top of the mole. His other paw came around to help, the glass shredding the remains of his flesh and digging into the mole's trachea. He lifted, and pushed, slamming the head into the floor until long after the struggling stopped.

He let go. And then he awoke.

The pain had not stopped, the bleeding had not stopped, but he was _alive_. That was the requirement.

He stood up, after a few tries. He couldn't see, he could barely make sense of which direction gravity was in. He couldn't tell if he was breathing or drowning. It didn't matter. His good paw had found itself a club to wield, and the glass shards embedded in his other fist crinkled as he flexed it.

There were still so many moles left. Too many for him to leave behind.

He limped into the darkness as far as the darkness would let him.


	25. Interlude: Hope Still Flies

**25. Interlude: Hope Still Flies**

_By: Tara_

"I still can't believe it," Pyracantha said grimly.

She and Flax trudged through the snow, heading due south to the best of their estimation, back towards Yew. After finding no sign of other survivors, Flax had said that they had no choice but to head back and get help from the Guard. Perhaps, with a proper search party, they might find some survivors. Or, at the very least, they might be able to give the dead a proper burial.

"There's not a lot we can do for them. It's not our fault," Flax told her.

"I didn't say it was." Pyracantha's reply gave the ice all around them a run for its money.

Grunting, the vole pulled a bottle of brandy from his haversack and took a longer pull than necessary. When he lowered the bottle he saw the vixen glaring at him. It was becoming an all-too-familiar sight.

"What?"

"That's not helping."

"What's not?" Flax said, taking another swig.

"If you get _drunk_ and fall down a _crevasse_, I'm not saving you." Pyracantha's lips twitched into the slightest of smiles as the snow crunched under her paws. "And I'll go back to Yew and tell them all about it."

Flax had to laugh at that. "I'd like to see you make it back without me. I've got all the supplies."

"What?" It was Pyracantha's turn to laugh. "You don't have supplies. I found the supplies. All you've got is four bottles of bad decisions, you dunce."

"You know, for a vixen, you're rather prudish."

Pyracantha raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh hon, I'd love to tell you just how 'prudish' I am, but it'd probably take all of your alcohol for you to try and forget it."

Flax chuckled. "Well, then don't tell me what I can and can't do." He took another drink.

Pyracantha was rapidly losing patience with him. "You idiot! You're going to be of no use to me if I have to carry you back to Yew. You should know better than me that these mountains are hardly safe for two lone travelers."

Flax's patience was running just as thin. "Look, I'm not getting drunk, all right?" He shoved the bottle back into his haversack, muttering as he did, "I'm just drinking enough to make you sound less like a nagging shrike..."

"What was that?" the vixen snapped.

"I said..."

Flax didn't have time to think of a clever malapropism. He was more concerned with the giant boulder hurtling down the mountainside to his left, coming straight for the pair of them. Before he could move, Pyracantha launched herself at him, the pair of them falling roughly to the ground as the boulder crashed by, finally coming to rest at the trunk of a massive pine. The tree gave an almighty shudder, showering the pair of them with needles.

The vixen stood and offered Flax her paw. He took it, and the pair of them brushed pine needles out of their fur and clothing in stunned silence.

"You okay?" Pyracantha finally asked.

"Yes, fine. You?"

"Never better!" the vixen chirped, though her paws were shaking visibly.

"Now you look like you really could use a drink," Flax joked.

"Don't you even start!"

"Oh, rela—ow! Felldoh's sainted aunt!"

Flax clutched at his left shoulder where a sling stone had come out of nowhere and struck it. It was his turn to push Pyracantha, the pair of them slipping and scrambling to the safety of the boulder as a volley of sling stones followed them. They crouched behind what had mere minutes ago been even more deadly to them than the stones now bouncing off it, now grateful for its protection.

"I'm starting to think this boulder wasn't a coincidence," Pyracantha gasped, clutching at a bruised footpaw.

"You think?" Flax growled, trying to ignore the deep stinging pain shooting through his shoulder. "There's something out there that doesn't want us to be here. Must have entered their territory without knowing it."

"How many do you think there are?" Pyracantha asked, drawing her—or rather, his—dagger.

"No idea. Could be a few, could be scores. I think they were hiding out in those bushes ahead of us. They have the element of surprise, too. A frontal assault would be suicide."

It felt good to be back in his element for once. Sure, his head was a little fuzzy from the brandy, but still. He lived for this. If only he had a good squad of Yew Guards with him, instead of one impudent, flabby vixen...

"What do you think we should do?" said vixen asked.

"_Now_ you're interested in my opinion?"

Pyracantha gave him a look of great long-suffering. "Of course I am, you great numpty. You're the skirmish expert here, not me. I'd be a fool not to take your advice."

"Oh." Flax opened and shut his mouth a few times, thinking. "Well. I think the best thing to do in this situation is to remember the better part of valor."

Pyracantha considered his words for a moment. "So...we're running away?"

"Do you have a better idea?" the vole snapped.

Pyracantha bit back a response, shaking her head.

"We'll just have to try and get out of their territory and find another path south."

The pair of them made a run for it, slipping into the cover of the pine forest. They carried on west for a time, doing their best to cover their tracks with a switch of pine, and after a time they found another way south.

No sooner had they broken the tree line than a volley of sling stones sent them scrambling back into the safety of the forest.

"Damn it!" Flax barked. "How can this still be their territory? Do they own this entire valley?"

"I think..." Pyracantha leaned her head back against the tree behind which she was hiding, looking like she was trying hard to remember something. "I think this might not be their territory. I think they might just not want us to go south."

"Why wouldn't they? They don't know who we are...Wait, do they?"

Pyracantha shrugged. "I don't know. The Yew Guard uniform is not exactly inconspicuous, though. They could be from Carrigul."

"And this close to Yew without us knowing? Please," Flax snorted. "This must still be their territory. Let's go a bit farther and see."

So they did. And after running from a third volley of stones, Flax knew he'd been wrong.

"Well. I think we're not heading back to Yew," Pyracantha said, after they'd gone a safe distance back into the forest.

Flax snapped their track covering branch over his knee and hurled it as hard as he could. "Damn their hides!"

"Well," Pyracantha began calmly, "what can we—"

"What can we do?" Flax yelled. "We can either starve to death or get stoned to death! Those are our options, Miss Dewhurst!"

His anger ebbed away, leaving an overwhelming feeling of despair. The vole slumped against a tree and slid into a sitting position, paying no mind to the sap that got all over his cloak as he did so. "You were wrong to listen to this 'skirmish expert,' Pyracantha. I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do. We're going to die out here."

He was going to die. His family might never know. Kela would wait, time slowly cauterizing the wound in her heart. Netta would grow up without him, probably find a mate of her own one day. Flax felt a heat rising behind his eyes and quickly rubbed at them. He felt Pyracantha's paw settle on his shoulder and, after a bit more rubbing, dared to look up into her face. Her expression was hard to read, but there was a light in her eyes, something akin to an older sister looking after a younger sibling.

"It's okay," she said softly.

Anger coursed through him again. She was patronizing him. She enjoyed this. But he was too tired and cold to respond.

"We could always try to get to Carrigul, you know," Pyracantha offered.

"What, just the two of us?" Flax gave her an incredulous look.

"I have connections there. You could be hidden away. As I'd imagine your head would fetch a pretty coin."

"And then what?"

"We could send Aster a message. Find a carrier bird, pay the right price, and then..."

"Then what?"

"Well," Pyracantha said simply, "then I don't really know. But it's better than dying out here, isn't it?"

Flax considered her half-cocked plan for a moment, then sighed. "Well, I suppose since the odds of us dying well before we reach Carrigul anyway are fairly great, we might as well try."

The vole stood. "Let's retrace our steps. I know there was that cave a little farther on from the slide. If we keep a good pace, we should just make it by nightfall. How is your paw? Can you climb?"

Pyracantha put some weight on it, grimacing slightly. "It aches, but I don't think it's broken."

"Good. Come on, then. Keep up, soldier."

If they were going to die, he figured he might as well die with some decorum.

~

They reached the base of the landslide with little event, just as the sun was dipping below the treeline, the temperatures dipping along with it. Flax drew his cloak tighter about himself, and Pyracantha snuggled into her jade green shawl.

"Hang on." Flax halted Pyracantha with a paw on her shoulder.

"What is—" The vixen's question dissolved into a startled shriek. She had nearly tripped over the body of a weasel, his throat slit, a frozen crimson pond spreading out into the snow around his corpse.

"Here's another, and another!" Flax gasped, pointing at body after disfigured body. "I didn't notice these before. Since when does a landslide slit your throat?"

"Do you think...it was whoever attacked us earlier?" Pyracantha's eyes widened, and she whirled around, as if looking for some hidden assailants.

"Maybe..." Flax said vaguely, closing his eyes. No, it couldn't be...They would have found him if he were still alive, surely...

"Well, then...shouldn't we perhaps...shift our tails? They could be using this as a distraction or something."

"Hmm. Fair point. Let's go."

~

After a long and arduous climb, they finally reached the road. Darkness threatened to envelop them, and they needed the small amount of wood they'd gathered as firewood. Gasping, shivering, and often stumbling on the slippery path, they eventually made it to the cave. It was a welcome sight. They hurried inside and set about making a fire. After some unsuccessful strikes of his flint and tinder, Flax finally got a small blaze going.

And then, by the dim glow, Pyracantha saw it: the remnants of another campfire.

"Flax," Pyracantha said as she nudged Flax, undertones of joy and relief in her voice, "do you know what this means? There are others!"

Flax gave her a look that said clearly that she was crazy. "Hate to break it to you, Miss Dewhurst, but beasts use this cave all the time. You're just delirious from the cold."

"No!" the vixen barked. "You're wrong. This campfire...it isn't old. Can't you smell it? There were other beasts here. I smell..."

Leaving Flax to his fire tending, she followed the faint scent of something...She didn't know what, exactly, but it tanged in her nostrils. The vixen's nose was naturally sharp, but she had become accustomed to foraging in her younger and poorer days. Once she locked on to a scent, she didn't give up on it until she found its source.

She made her way to the back of the cave, where a long, dark crack loomed like some great, stone cat's eye. The scent got stronger. There! About halfway down the crack on one side, just a faint smear, but it was unmistakeably—

"Blood!" she cried. "It's dried now, but I can still smell it." She leaned down and lightly lapped at the smear, ignoring the dirt and grit mixed in with the metallic substance. "Mustelid. It was a ferret, definitely."

She turned to look at Flax triumphantly, but the vole was eyeing her with disgust. "Did you really just lick dried blood off a cave wall?"

"Yes, to be sure it's blood, you plum."

"But. Hang on..." Flax seemed to be having trouble finding the appropriate words. "Does this mean you've tasted ferret blood _before_?"

"What? Oh, no, of course not!"

"Then how..."

Pyracantha smirked and held up a long hair. "Found this caught in a small crack near the blood. It's a ferret hair, definitely. A ferret squeezed through here, recently enough for his scent to be here still. Faintly, but it's here."

"His?"

"Oh, or hers, I suppose." Pyracantha had spoken without thinking. She drew the hair to her nose and inhaled deeply again, to be sure. It smelled so familiar. But no, it couldn't be him. No, it could have. If the stories were true, it would be an even bigger shock to her if he'd let a little thing like a mountain pass collapsing defeat him.

"Huh." Flax shrugged. "Well, I guess we're not alone."

They looked at each other for a while, then both of their mouths broke into grins, and suddenly, Pyracantha didn't know why, but she was hurrying towards him and enveloping him in a tight hug.

"Steady on!" the vole gasped, flushing scarlet beneath his fur, though he did not push her away.

_"Do you know what this means?"_ Pyracantha said breathlessly, finally releasing a rather ruffled looking Flax. "We're not alone. There are other survivors. Now all we have to do is find them. We might stand a chance in Carrigul after all!"

Flax was a hard beast to read sometimes, but it was clear he looked a lot more relieved. After a string of bad luck, tragedy, and near death experiences, finally they had a clear road ahead of them, a mission.

Pyracantha dove for his haversack and rummaged around. "Oy!" he snapped. "I already said I wasn't going to..."

"No," the vixen said, taking a draught of the brandy and beaming. "Flax, dear, there is a right time and a wrong time for alcohol. This is most definitely a right time for alcohol." Flax took the bottle back from her as she coughed. "Packs a wallop, though."

"Damn right it does. Hopfit's is the best." The vole winked at her and took a long pull himself. Pyracantha impatiently snatched the bottle away from him to take another drink, and he chuckled. "You know, I actually kind of like you like this, Miss Dewhurst. You should drink more often."

"Oh, I used to. Probably could drink you and that one otter you had with you under the table if I tried. It just got old after a while, and besides, I had family to look after."

"You and your 'family,'" Flax chuckled, adding more kindling to the fire.

Pyracantha's ears pricked up. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That sound. Sounds like it's coming from outside the cave. A scrabbling or something."

The brief cheery atmosphere had died completely. Pyracantha set the bottle aside and Flax drew his spear from the straps across his back.

"Be careful!" Pyracantha whispered.

She watched Flax disappear from the mouth of the cave. For a few moments there was silence, save for the crepitating fire.

Then she heard Flax's strangled yell.


	26. Ho! Ho! To the Bottle I Go!

**26. Ho! Ho! To the Bottle I Go!**

_By: Vanessa_

For an ottermaid whose sleep could usually be compared to that of a very heavy log, the fact that Nessa was still tossing and turning under her thick sheet in the hours following midnight was rather unusual. Perhaps it was the aftereffect of her perilous fishing expedition earlier that evening. Maybe it was the tense emotional mood that seemed to dominate the camp after the cat's unexpected outburst and Cookie's, no_ Risk's_, departure. Or maybe it was just the hard lumps of rock sticking into her back.

She didn't quite know what to make of it all- exhausted from her swim and from crafting the makeshift pine branch shelters that now covered the small band from the worst of the cold wind, she found herself unable to react to the barrage of new facts and emotions. And yet her mind seemed unable to rest, humming like a jar full of flies, each thought buzzing around without ever merging into a coherent idea. Nessa hated it.

Rolling silently upright, the ottermaid clutched her sheet around her for warmth and slipped out of the shelter she was sharing with Zevka and Poko into the bitingly cold night. A lump stood several paces away from the camp, illuminated by a small lantern. Gashrock.

"Cap'n Noona sent me tae take o'er the watch."

Lying was so convenient sometimes- no bothersome questions or comments. The rattess underneath the pile of heavy blankets merely blinked and nodded.

"'Bout time summone showed up."

As Gashrock stumped off to the nearest shelter, Nessa snuggled deep inside the blankets, inhaled deeply, and extinguished the lantern with a small breath. Much better. The crisp mountain air brought her sense awake and calmed the ceaseless hum of her thoughts.

Nyika saw (or thought she saw) ghosts. Cookie was the famous assassin that even she'd heard about in every tavern she'd ever frequented. It set her mind reeling. She'd liked Cookie, more or less. And Poko... whatever had happened between the three jills to suddenly explode into such enmity and violence, Nessa hoped she could find a way to mend it. She was just starting to consider all three of them as friends, though Zevka was by far her closest confidante and Poko felt more like the younger sister she'd never had.

Then there was the matter of their as-yet-unclear destination. In Yew, Carrigul was always present in underlying gossip and dark tales, but its menace often faded into the mundane. Now it was real, a deadly place as close to them as Yew was far, filled with enemies. But suddenly, Nessa knew: she didn't want to go back to Yew. She didn't want to return to her old life of duties and rebellion without having accomplished something that would prove her worth undoubtedly to everyone. She wanted to go to Carrigul. To see a real vermin town. She wouldn't leave Zevka to go on alone if Noonahootin decided to return to Yew. After all, what tied her to her hometown now? The Guard? Because of their silly system and rules, she was forced to follow meekly while Istvan strutted about giving orders. And to add insult to injury, he was useless to the point where he needed her to save him whenever things got dangerous! No, there was nothing tying her to them. _Your father..._

A soft crunching sound suddenly alerted Nessa to the large feathery bulk approaching from behind her. Drat. She'd be in trouble _again,_ if Gashrock had told Noonahootin that he had ordered her to take over the watch.

"You don't seem to be keeping a very effective watch, Guardsbeast."

Indeed, lost in her ruminations, Nessa's eyes were rather more fixated on the ground besides her than at the surrounding area. But in no mood for reprimands, the ottermaid only snorted irritably without even glancing up at her captain. A single flat question slipped from her lips.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

If she'd been looking at Noonahootin, Nessa would have seen a rather irritated owl waiting expectantly for her to resume proper protocol.

"Why in the name o' crags did ye have to put that no-good, freakish... _oaf_ in command?" The heated words slipped out of her mouth like daggers.

Noonahootin scratched his neck with one talon.

"Ah. You are, of course, referring to Corporal Istvan."

Nessa simply glared.

"Aye."

"Well, he's of higher rank. I would have thought that obvious." The owl chortled, his laughter a low series of ominous, hollow sounding hoots. It was very much unlike the lightly smiling owl, whose huge eyes were friendly and not starring at her intensely as they could. "Istvan is a Corporal, you are a Guardsbeast. He _used_ to be a Guardsbeast...when he was just older than you."

She'd had enough. Nessa stood up straight in the snow, her eyes fairly smoldering at her officer.

"Nae, it's nae obvious tae me! He's nae a part o' the Guard! He doesnae want tae protect anyone, all he wants is tae sacrifice us tae his deity! An' he cannae even swim! Ah wager he couldnae fight like a Guard either!  
Why didnae ye choose someone who kin _do_ somethin' other than ramble about a hallucination who wants our blood! Why didnae ye choose..."  
She trailed off, slowly becoming aware of just how much of her thoughts she was revealing to the owl. But she'd gone too far to back off now.

His unsettling amber eyes cast her a quick glance but flickered away. The owl shook his head, leaning back stiffly and sighing.

"Corporal Istvan obeys orders. He doesn't cause too much trouble with the civilians, and his dedication to the job is along the lines of remarkably firm. He served very well during the Bread Riots, as you may or may not remember. You had quite a lot to drink that evening, as I recall..." The owl trailed off, chuckling fondly at an old memory. He turned back to her shuffling along the ground awkwardly.

"Guardsbeast, Istvan is dependable. He is responsible, and has proven himself before."

The owl's laughter seemed to burn a path to Nessa's heart, his well-intentioned words sinking into her core like so many arrows. Wasn't it what everyone thought of her? Irresponsible, lazy, addle-brained, a drunkard. And yet...

"Then _why_ didnae ye give _me_ a chance to prove mahself? You ne'er do, none o' ye! Ah ken what ye all think o' me, but Ah can lead! Ah can fight fer the Guard! Ah'm no' a daft brute who's loyalty doesnae even belong tae ye! Ye jus' ne'er give me a chance!"

Noonahootin peered at Vanessa then, squinting his eyes as though trying to find a spiderweb in darkness. He sat back, sighing, and reached up with two curved talons to curl the long feathers that flowed out from around his beak.

"The road had just collapsed. Beasts were dead and dying everywhere, and I couldn't find any of our own. Istvan was the first Yew Guard I had encountered in what seemed like ages, Vanessa," the owl said quietly.

"If you had been standing side by side with Istvan when I found him, my decision would not have changed," he said, slowly and carefully. "Istvan has no family, nor friends really. He had a head on his shoulders, though, and I very much doubt you would have. He leads with his mind-"

Vanessa huffed, rolling her eyes skyward

"-while you lead with your heart. To do that requires qualities you do not possess as of now. Charisma, dependability, sensitiveness... Otherwise, beasts fall from you like leaves in an autumn wind."

The ottermaid stayed silent but her eyes still shone defiantly at the owl captain. He sighed again.

"Vanessa, "Dear girl, you must recall that I served with your father? We donned the blue cloaks for many years side by side; many of those years were before you were born. I had been bred from stock well suited for warfare, and tamed by altruistic intentions. Your father did not have my natural gentility, but he had raw charisma and a true heart."

The owl took a breath, and blinked one eye before the other. He shifted his wings as if reluctant, but raised his face to the moon and very firmly planted his feet.

"The day he died, I had been flying out ahead of a tracking party, searching for an assassin whom your father had stopped from murdering Lord Aster. I came back after finishing my rounds and…" the owl swallowed lightly, blinking. "Well, he was dying, ambushed by a gang of stoats who the assassin had paid off…the only one of the troupe left breathing. Good fellow, strong buck of a beast he was. He had this resilience about him; always made you throw one more punch, haha…."

The owl blinked, obviously realizing that he was rambling. He cleared his throat, making a gesture as though he had been about to put his wing around the otter maid, but then thought better of it, settling to pat her shoulder lightly.  
"His last words were about you, Vanessa. He asked me to keep an eye on you, and I swore I would. I told him I'd keep you on track. I have failed him so far."

"What's that supposed tae mean?" Vanessa spat, baring her teeth angrily at the slight. Her captain's voice took a turn and suddenly became very snappy and competitive.

"It means, Guardsbeast, that I have clearly been negligent. You're angry that I trusted Corporal Istvan more than you? You should be; you're being outclassed by someone you think is a daft brute whose loyalty doesn't even belong to me! When your father was your age, he was already a lieutenant. I should have been pushing you all these years, but instead I've simply let you to your own devices. You lost your ambitions when your father passed away. You used to be so eager to please him, so delightfully proud to serve in the blue alongside your pa. You've been destined to be a Guard your whole life, Miss Fern. Your father was the greatest soldier of our time, and had all the pluck it took to groom you to follow in his paw prints…and, one day he hoped, become Commander-in-Chief. I should have been doing more to keep you in line. If only I had kept at you, like when you were young and learning how to track, do you remember? You were on such a good path before he died…"

A wave of emotions, too mixed and powerful for her to control, surged up inside Nessa, flooding her entire being. To her utter mortification, she felt hot tears running down her cheeks like rivulets.

"Stop! Leave me alone!"

"But-"

"Go away! GO 'WAY!"

Sobbing heavily, the ottermaid sprinted off into the night.

For protection against further attacks from the moles, the survivors had made camp on a large shelf of rock not far from the ice patch. It was away from trees, situated between the moutainside and a small cliff that continued down the mountain- but most importantly, the solid granite below them was foolproof armor against the tunneling guerrillas.

There, between the cliff edge and camp, Nessa lay huddled in a small natural hollow in the mountainside. Her head buried in her paws, she didn't see the figure approaching until the lantern light fell on her face.

"Nessa?"

At the marten's low tone, Nessa glanced up, trying to muster a smile for her friend.

"Couldnae sleep either, Zevka?"

The other jill set down her lantern.

"Mmmm. You alright? You haven't been crying, have you?"

Angrily, Nessa tried to dash away the tears frozen on her fur. Zevka smiled.

"I brought you something I've been saving since my foraging with Risk. Thought it might cheer you up."

There was a familiar clinking sound and Nessa whirled around, unable to believe her eyes. There in Zevka's outstretched paws, four flasks full of liquid lay gleaming and sparkling in the lantern light.

"Mead?"

Zevka grinned.

"The very best."

There was no need for further words. Nessa grabbed the marten in a bone-crushing hug, almost knocking the flasks from her paws. Zevka chuckled.

"Careful! Don't want to break them, do we?"

The ottermaid grinned back just as gleefully.

"Aye, we certainly don't!"

They spread the blanket on the snowy rock and suddenly, it was just like the first time they'd met, back when Zevka and Mekad ran a small tavern at Yew and Nessa was a frequent visitor. Just the two of them, alternately chatting and drinking until the wee hours when everyone had left and Nessa's officers had given up on locating her.  
Apparently, Zevka was thinking the same.

"Ah, I've missed our fun times, Ness. We mustn't drink _too_ much though- this_ is_ in the middle of enemy territory."

The ottermaid nodded absentmindedly, more focused on uncorking the bottle than on her friend's words.

The first sip tasted like divine nectar.

"Jings! Ne'er tasted better. Iffen we e'er get oot o' these blasted mountains, Zevka, Ah owe ye one."

"Eh, you'd have done the same for me, aye? Why did that owl want to talk to you anyway?"

Her good mood suddenly evaporating, Nessa took a slightly larger gulp then was necessary and stared at the sloshing liquid.

"Guard business. Here."

The flask switched paws and the marten took a long pull.

"It was about Istvan, wasn't it? You did seem pretty peeved at him."

Glad to turn her mind away from leadership, responsibility, and her father, Nessa unburdened her opinion of the Corporal, cheering up greatly as she did so.

"Huh, how he even got in the Guard, Ah'll ne'er know. An' noo he's even turned the Cap'n tae his side. Two-faced snake that he is. No, that's tae mild fer the mud-hearted, fork-tongued, blood-stained hypocrite. "

"How about a self-righteous prick? He certainly is."

The discussion was cut short as Nyika unexpectedly appeared in the small circle of lantern light. Without a word, the young wildcat crossed over, sat down, and took the bottle from besides Nessa.

Zevka glared at the wildcat; she clearly had not forgotten their earlier confrontation.

"Hey, Nyika, why don't you go find a haunted house to exorcise or something? I don't usually drink with beasts who pick on kits who just lost both parents." The marteness winced. "And get the stuffing beat out of me in the process." She snatched the bottle back and took a pull of it. "'Gates, but that ferret can throw a punch."

Nyika sighed. "Can I have a drink, please?"

Zevka moved the bottle farther out of reach. "No! I really-"

Nessa held her aching head in two paws and appealed to Zevka.

"Och, leave 'er off fer a bit, Zevka. Ah'm gettin' a headache an' Ah haven't even started tae drink. Ye can all resume yer talks tomorer."

Zevka looked at Nessa, looked at the bottle, and then shrugged as she passed it to Nyika

The ottermaid stopped, looking on in admiration and no little concern as the cat downed half her bottle in a single go.

"Jings! Where'd ye learn tae drink like that, lassie?"

Nyika exhaled a deep breath and hiccoughed. "I've had practice."

An empty bottle later and Nessa abruptly got up, announcing to nobeast in particular.

"Ah'm starvin'."

She marched off unsteadily towards the camp, her intoxicated mind focused only on food. What luck! The food bag was just at the edge of the nearest shelter where Istvan was snoring like a bullfrog besides the bullfrog in question. Heaving the bag over her shoulder and marching back to their makeshift drinking ground was the work of a few minutes and Nessa was soon alternatively snacking on dried fish and sloshing down mead. Apparently, Nyika and Zevka had been at it while she had been gone- two bottles now lay empty and the third one was only a quarter full.

"Sae, frae what Ah gather yer some kinda seer, eh Nyika?"

The wildcat stared solemnly at the mead swirling at the bottom of her flask, looking rather like a gypsy reading tea leaves.

"I shee dead beashts."

She let the words hang mysteriously for a second then waved her paws in a spooky manner. "Oooh!"  
The wildcat giggled, and her humor was contagious. Nessa found herself giggling right alongside with her.

"So Nyika, wot drags ye all th' way out here?"

Nyika nodded to the pine marten, who was in the middle of taking a swig.

"Aye, but ye must have been doing summat before et all."

"Oh." Nyika paused, thinking. "I guesh you could say I'm on a path t' enlightenment."

Nessa frowned. "Wot d'ye mean bah that?"

"Well, I left my tribe to find myshelf."

"It wasnae 'cause of a lad, was it?" Nessa teased.

Nyika's face flushed.

"Oooh!" Nessa crowed. "Tell us aboot him! Was he strapping?"

"No." Nyika grinned. "He was just ... a fox."

"A fox? Give me a guid otterlad any day of the week, me mum allus said!"

Zevka had taken interest as she started to uncork the fourth bottle.

"Ha! I wonder - hic!- Nessa, how many jacks are pining away at their windowsills while you're out here?"

Blast that marten! She was holding the bottle just far enough so Nessa couldn't reach it, waiting for an answer to her question.

"Er... None that Ah kin think of. Ah gave 'em all sae much bruises they ran away. Haha..."

She sighed with relief as Zevka passed the flask over- the marten however, wasn't finished. She was doing a passable imitation of a starstruck male.

"Oh Nessa...come back to me, mah sweet! My life withoot ye is like...like hotroot soup without shrimp...or...an unkeelhauled bowspirit!"

Nessa winced and blushed simultaneously.

Zevka fluttered her eyelashes at the otter. "Tonight, mah heart is growin' lahk a big frog's gullet! Yer eyes are like-"

"Ah'll talk, Ah'll talk! Just put a cork in that ridiculous gibberish!"

Nessa took another swallow first to fortify herself, feeling it slide like liquid fire down her throat.  
"Weel, if ye must know... Ah did spend a wee bit o' time with one fellow- name o' Chan Blackrudder. Ridiculous name, iffen ye ask me, his rudder was brown as treebark. Dinnae last long though. Got himself arrested... bah the Guard."

Zevka winced. "Grah. Although I guess he didn't get enough love as a kit, if his parents didn't even get his name right. Hic, hic!"

"Mmmm. Weel noo, what aboot all the bonny lads pinin' for their pine, hmmm?"

Her tone was challenging- this was when the tables were turned.

_Scat_, the look on Zevka's face said rather clearly.  
"Well, uh...I mean, I've been _very_ busy! And, and I haven't even been in town that long, you know! But I'll get right on that, uh, soon! At least here I don't have to ask every pine marten I meet if he's related to me!""

Taking advantage of the fact that Zevka had forgotten about her bottle, Nessa swigged again.  
_You've ne'er gotten sae drunk before, Nessa, stop et now. Ye need yer wits aboot ye!_ The small inner voice was whispering again. She drowned it in a quaff of alcohol and leaned back into the pleasant humming. This was payback time.

"Oooooh, aye, Ah forgot aboot Mekad. Mah ap'ogies."

Zevka suddenly looked downright murderous- Nyika only swayed, looking vaguely puzzled.

"Zevka's friend?"

"Friend? Why, that would be Zevka's bonny han'shome wildcat, Mekad! Grew oop together, went tae school taegether, 'tis quite romantic really!"

"Ah, yesh."

The wildcat nodded with a smile and turned back to her flagon; Nessa was about to continue extrapolating on the subject when she found herself in a rather neat headlock.

"Don't you dare say another word!"

The humming had entirely taken over her brain, thoughts fleeing like wisps of clouds. Lazily, she flopped forward, flipping the marten over her head and unto the ground. Grinning like a lunatic, Nessa spread both paws in a wrestler's grip.

"Yer on!"

Seconds later, the marten and the otter had both arms locked together, swaying this way and that around the wildcat who seemed utterly fascinated by the display. Somehow both beasts' balance felt flawless as they staggered, wobbled, and lurched their way around the lantern, unable to throw the other to the ground. Nessa giggled. It was amazing really, like they were locked in a dance in which it was was impossible to fall.

"Zevka, we're flooooating! Haha- Ooopmh!"

Both beasts lay flat on their backs on the rocky ground. The world seemed to spin, revolving around the half-full flagon that had conveniently fallen besides the ottermaid's paw. She downed the remainder in a single gulp and the warmth spread through completely. She watched herself stumble upright like her body wasn't her own anymore, observing passively as the otter below started on a loud and utterly incoherent rendition of a past tavern fight, her only audience a glazed-eyed marten and a tipsy wildcat.

"Sae, the saucy blighter wuz callin' me names, ye ken? Sae Ah gave 'im a braw slap tae remember me bah. Then Ah punch 'im! Like so!"

Nessa kept watching, utterly detached, as her body attacked the closest thing at hand- the large, bulky food sack.

"An' then 'e had the nerve tae tae grab me kilt! An' ye know wot Ah did?"

The otter grabbed the sack with both paws, lifting it off the ground, her eyes completely glazed over.

"Ah grabbed 'im- like this- an' threw 'im, straight oot the window!"

Loose and relaxed from all the alcohol, Nessa's body acted like a spring as she flipped on her back, sending the bag flying overhead with the impetus of all four paws. It disappeared down the nearby cliff face and Nessa waved stupidly at it.

"G'bye!"

There was sudden dead silence.

Far below, the small group's only food supply bounced off the cliff, spilling dried fish and travel rations everywhere, as it rolled off a much steeper mountain slope and disappeared into the darkness far below.

Nessa fainted.


	27. Blue on Blue

**27. Blue on Blue**

_By: Noonahootin_

The sun was peaking over the mountain's craggy horizon, and with it came a canvas of red and pink and blue. The dawn, barely etched in the sky, was a reminder to Noonahootin how restless the disastrous mission had turned out to be. His eyes had barely closed in the wee hours of the morning, the owl at last succumbing to well-earned sleep...and then he was being awoken by a stammering still-drunk otter and a flabbergasted, dry-mouthed pine marten.

"What were you thinking?" Noonahootin groaned, pinching the bridge of his beak with his talons. Before him, Vanessa stood crookedly, trying very hard to keep her balance but swaying despite herself. She was blinking heavily, and Noonahootin wondered if she was seeing double.

"Ah didnae mean tae, Cap'n, Ah just... et just happened."

"Things do not 'just happen', Guardsbeast Fern," Noonahootin said, and then sighed heavily. "Why were you drunk on duty? What could have possessed you to act so...so irresponsibly in our current situation?" His tone was level. Years had taught the owl that patience was a far more useful tool than a temper could ever be when it came to reprimanding a beast. The more upset they were, the worse everything seemed, and patience was his kindness to his charges. He stood drawn up to his full height before the sheepish otter maid, expression completely blank and unwavering save for the hardness in his eyes.

"Start from the beginning, Guardsbeast. Tell me what happened that lead you to drop our food bag off the side of a cliff."

Guardsbeast Vanessa Fern had been a matter of concern to the owl for a while. Noonahootin had watched her turn away from her less destructive habits upon the murder of her father, and he had done nothing but hope she would overcome the tragedy, not carry a chip on her shoulder the rest of her life. He had let her be, and instead let her do things in her own fashion. Now, he could not recall a time before this that he more regretted his lack of influence. He had hoped their earlier conversation would have helped her along somehow, but it appeared not to be the case. 'Yet', if the captain had his way about things.

"Ah...Ah didnae..." Vanessa seemed unable to speak right then, her eyes not daring to look at the owl any higher than his feathery belly.

"It wasn't entirely her fault," Zevka intervened for her otter friend, stepping forward as though she were a sacrifice. Captain Noonahootin was unimpressed, and turned his head smoothly to look at the marten.

"With all due respect, Miss Blackbriar, I am speaking with _Guardsbeast Fern_ at the moment. I will speak with _you_ when I have dealt with my own."

A chill went through the air for, although Noonahootin had meant well, there had been the unmistakable voice of chastisement in the owl's words. Slighted and annoyed, Zevka crossed her arms over her chest, tapping her footpaw upon the ground in a show of impatience and remaining pointedly _silent_ while she glared at the back of Noonahootin's head. There was a point, however, where the growing light became too much for the marten, and she slung an arm over her face, grumbling about the pain in her head and wondering grumpily where Risk was.

"Guardsbeast Fern, we are all waiting for you to explain yourself," Noonahootin's tone grew pressing, and became more than expectant. The entire group was gathered around, watching the exchange between Officer and Guard. Istvan stood beside Noonahootin with a scornful look upon his maw as he glared as his fellow Yew Guard. Zevka stood behind the Captain, a shivering Nyika at her side. Poko sleepily blinked from beside a decidedly cross Gashrock. Greenfleck had tutted once, choosing to sit back and merely watch while everything unfolded before him.

"Ah just, Ah dinnae ken..." Vanessa stuttered, her eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"Look at me when you are speaking, Guardsbeast," Noonahootin commanded, his voice gentle but still authoritative.

Shocked, Vanessa's eyes widened and she sniffled involuntarily. Slowly, she lifted her head and forced herself to look at the owl's face above her. Glaring through her tears, she ran her tongue along her muzzle and, when she spoke, her voice became very quiet. "I didn't mean tae drop the food o'er the cliff. Ah'm sorry..." Her body was radiating heat from her shamed blushing, and Noonahootin sighed very quietly as he stared hard at the young otter maid.

He had to punish her, it was protocol, but it hardly seemed worth it in the desperate situation. She was practically punishing herself, such was her shame after their conversation from the night before about her wanting to prove herself...He had been the one to upset her so gravely, and she was still somewhat out of her mind, currently unable to even comprehend the severity of her infraction. Still... Guardsbeast Fern had dishonoured the Yew Guard name within a group that the blue tunics had only tenuous control over; with Zevka constantly influencing the younger ones, Istvan frightening them with his religion, and Cookie turning out to be none other than _Risk the damn Cutter_, chaos was easily latching its claws into the already compromised mission.

_To think I had been starting to trust the crooked fellow...We'll never see him again, though. To top it all off, I'll have to tell the Dewhurst kit and the rat about their companion's departure..._ The owl snorted angrily, turning away from Vanessa and pacing back and forth in a short circle.

"_Look_, it was my fault for offering her a drink in the first place. If I had known she-"

"_MISS Blackbriar_," Noonahootin said, his voice raising to a very authoritative volume. "If you please." The owl punctuated each word with a beat, warning her that his patience was not for her. The pine marten flinched painfully at his loud voice, but Noonahootin knew from the roll of her eyes that she wasn't afraid of him.

Turning back to Guardsbeast Fern, the old owl stared at the otter and frowned, his pupils contracting and dilating as he thought about what to do. The food was gone, which meant even if hey started dying in the cold, one by one, they weren't any better off than they had been before with measly crumbs. They would have to hunt and scavenge more, which meant the journey would take even longer. To make matters even worse, he had been unable to convince the group to wait for his wing to heal so he might fly back to Yew. Blackbriar had them all thinking that Carrigul was a viable option, never mind the cold and hunger...and now moles...

"Well, what are you going to do, then? Don't torture her! Can't you see she's shaken up enough?! SAY SOMETHING TO HER!"

"I'm thinking," the owl said, clenching his beak hard in irritation.

"Think faster."

She was pushing him. That damned marten was pushing him, and Noonahootin was far too cold, far too hungry, and far to tired to let it go.

"Miss Blackbriar, since you seem so eager to take the blame, perhaps I will deal with you, _right_ now." Very quickly for an old bird, the scout was right in front of Zevka, leaning down so his wickedly sharp beak was directly in front of her face, amber eyes focused unblinkingly on her. "Do you have something to say to everyone?" He cocked his head in mock curiousity. "You're the one who is to blame, was that it? You're the one who coerced my Guard to ignore her duties and get drunk on shift? If it hadn't been for _your_ irresponsibility, _your_ indiscretion, this would not have happened!"

The owl's voice had been rising until he was just short of screaming at her. His booming voice, already naturally demanding, was nothing short of frightening to the Yew Guards who had never heard their Captain ever get quite so mad. Hastily, Vanessa took a step backwards, her brows shooting up when Zevka stared right back at the owl and upturned her lip.

"You want to talk about responsibility, Noonahootin?" Zevka leaned towards the owl, tired and narrowed eyes seeking out his. "Well, let me ask you something: do you really, _seriously_ believe that Istvan doesn't go around killing or maiming beasts for his religion when you're not watching him? What, exactly, do you do to make sure that a beast who openly proclaims his obligation to kill for a higher authority than you isn't actually doing so? If the answer is 'not much,' than how much of that blood is on your talons?"

Beside him, Istvan quivered, losing his composure momentarily as his glare grew all the more intense as Zevka spoke. "Insolent heretic! I am no murderer," he hissed.

"Stand down, Corporal," Noonahootin growled, resisting the urge to block Istvan with a wing. He did not want to give any fuel to the fire Zevka was trying to ignite. Obediently, Istvan snapped his maw shut.

"Corporal Istvan has been a loyal, hard working member of the Yew Guard since he first took the blue. If he went about murdering anybeast he deemed less than fit, the Guard would hear about it, and never approve." The words came, hoarse and less confident than they should have. Zevka did not miss his faltering.

"Officially or not?" Zevka sneered, her twitching ears pinned down against her skull. It appeared every spoken word caused her to wince, but her spirit was evidently feeling much better than her head.

Ignoring her, Noonahootin continued. "Even in the face of many years worth of bullying, Corporal Istvan has remained true to his convictions, all the while performing his duties to the Guard without question or hesitation. Such dedication is admirable. If a thief loses a paw, so be it; is that not the standard punishment in many civilized towns? He follows his orders to a tee. I know how to handle my guards, Miss Blackbriar."

"I beg to differ, you _overstuffed mantle decoration!_," Zevka snapped, her voice raspy. "If you knew how to handle your Guards, this wouldn't have happened! When I found her last night she was very upset after talking to _you_! _You_ upset her! You're supposed to take care of your own! I bet you don't even know where Risk is!"

From behind them, Gashrock quietly muttered in a rather solemn tone, "I bet you he don't, for that...well..."

"I had no intention of upsetting Guardsbeast Fern! If she would start using her brain more than her liver, she'd realize that! Never mind the ferret, either! Cookie-_Risk_ didn't need my protection!" Noonahootin spluttered, his feathers rising alongside his temper. His use of the past tense did not escape Zevka, whose eyebrows shot up at the owl's acceptance of Risk's demise. "That murdering scoundrel didn't deserve my protection! I've heard the ballads, heard the stories told time and time again! All that bragging he no doubt did about murdering the badger prince is nothing but testament to his cruelty! Prince Whitebeam was Lord Cedar's nephew, and heir apparent of Salamandastron! The child had more greatness in his whiskers than Coo-_Risk_ had in his whole body and soul!"

"Who's to say? The boy's dead now, and Risk killed him. It was a different place, a different time," Zevka said, waving a paw dismissively. "He was a different ferret then, doing what he had to. Beasts change. You should know that; you're _old_. Far too old to be heading out on long journeys, if you ask me. You didn't even _fall_ with the rest of us at the road, yet you've managed to acquire more wounds than most! While _we_ were scared and dying, _you_ were flying around, safe as can be."

"I was looking for survivors!" Noonahootin spat, although the marten's comment had cut him deeply. He had been plagued by the thought that it had been unfair, so unfair that he had so easily escaped death while so many others had had no other choice but to fall to their doom. The nightmares had been keeping him awake, and the simple fatigue of thinking about his garish dreams had cause the owl to start resenting sleep. Soon sleep had begun to elude him in return.

"_Survivors?_ All you found was a white owl and a bunch of savage moles who would like nothing better than to kill us all! Some scout you are; all you find is trouble."

"I'll have you know, _Miss Blackbriar_, that I-"

"Save it, grey beak. By the time you finish talking, you'll be dust and I'll be whiter than the owl that handed you your own tail feathers."

"You _insolent_ wretch! How dare you accuse me of being unfit for duty! I am sworn to protect those under my command. You can't even find a way to help the children you _elected_ to protect _get along_! The one grown beast you get your paws on is immediately turned onto a destructive path!" The owl reeled, clacking his beak as he pressed on, pulse racing and words pouring out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. "All that fancy academy learning at your proud vermin school and you can't even keep control over a pair of dibbuns! Do you seriously expect you can lead these beasts to _Carrigul?!_ You honestly think, _marten_, that you are better suited to lead these beasts to safety than I, a Captain of the Yew Guard and Chief Scout, who has flown these woods for years?"

"You think you can lead us to safety? Think we'll be fine if we follow you, bird? Risk told me you wanted to die in "glorious" battle! You can't even be trusted to keep yourself alive, let alone seven others, chasing after the white owl as you seek out your legendary end!"

Noonahootin winced, his former conversation with Cookie coming back to bite him.

_Trust a vermin to use what had been said in camaraderie for spitefulness..._

"Don't you dare assume I take my life for granted," Noonahootin warned, his face very serious and his tone incredibly dark. His brow was furrowed deeply and his amber eyes were glaring hotly at the pine marten. "I want everyone _safe_. I can't keep everyone safe or get them to a safe place if I'm _dead_! Perhaps if _Risk-_" Noonahootin stopped before he could betray himself. Ear tufts fully erect, the owl was puffing up, his tail splayed entirely as he crouched, wings beginning to unfold from his back as he ground his good talons into the snow. "You think _Risk_ didn't enjoy the ballad about the murder of Prince Whitebeam, sung by vermin across the lands? Hm? His legacy?"

"Risk is too valuable to our survival for you to go picking on him now," Zevka growled her own warning, her paws scrunching into fists. "Considering you were getting chummy with him after that flop of a scavenging mission you two went on, I'm surprised you still think he's so evil. Besides," Zevka pressed on, thumping her finger against Noonahootin's chest, "Everyone with half a brain in their skull knows that when royals fight, they cull their own line to keep the competition at bay."

"Watch your tongue, lass," Noonahootin said very sternly, though his voice practically dared her to keeping talking herself into a horribly deep hole. How dare she?! How dare she draw conspiracy out of such a tragedy as the murder of a young child?! "The royal line of Salamandastron has never treated its own so perniciously."

"How do you think a single ferret was able to get into the same room as the prince, let alone kill him? _Clearly_, somebeast didn't like the line of succession. You think badgers can't be cruel, bird? Think they don't treat their own kind with scorn? Vermin, woodlander, it doesn't matter in the end. You know what all those battles where the commander goes down in a blaze of glory have in common?" Zevka paused, sneering at the owl while she squinted one eye against the rising sun. "The commander gets a ballad if he's lucky. The rest of the beasts around him just get dead." Zevka's lip curled aside. "And that mindset didn't work out well for Prosecutes..."

The marten's easily slung words stung Noonahootin's ears and made his heart beat so hard against his chest that the owl briefly entertained the notion he was about to explode. Quicker than lightening, the owl bellowed a screech and launched himself forward, knocking Zevka onto her back and pinning her there with his curved claws. She sputtered, heaving as she tried to draw a breath, the wind knocked right out of her. Tail writhing, she curled and groaned underneath Noonahootin's foot, her paws beating at his leg helplessly.

"Now listen up," Noonahootin hissed dangerously, his words cutting through the loud protests of Vanessa. Poko had made to run forward and fight off the larger owl, but Gashrock flung an arm out to stop the young maid, hushing her while trying to contain her own startled expression. "I am Captain Noonahootin of the Yew Guard, son of Abracham of the Birch Woods and Delaney of the Court of the Seven Winds. I have fought in countless battles, lead countless campaigns across high waters and hellfire, and I DO NOT GIVE A HOOT WHO _YOU_ THINK _YOU_ ARE, BUT _YOU_ ARE NOT FIT TO LEAD SCAT THROUGH A SEWER!"

Somewhere behind him, Poko gasped.

"GUARDSBEAST FERN, FRONT AND CENTRE!"

Vanessa scrambled, her eyes wide. Her normally very complacent and jovial Captain had suddenly turned into a raging beast, insane with anger, and she was not eager to become his next target nor willing to risk his ire by being slow. Sobering up very quickly, Vanessa threw a salute and swallowed back the lump that had been forming in her throat.

"YO_HOO_ are NOT to spend ANY more time with this...this...THIS TRASH," Noonahootin seethed.

"How in blazes are we supposed tae survive if' Ah cannae work alongside Zevka?" Vanessa asked, her nervousness wiped away in the rebellion that bubbled up from her chest in face of losing her friend.

"THAT'S AN ORDER, GUARDSBEAST!" This time, Noonahootin was sure Vanessa understood how serious it was, screeching right into the otter's face and eliciting a small gasp from her as she recoiled, raising her paws in defence as though to push away an attacker.

"So much for 'we're all in this together', eh, Captain." It was Greenfleck, lazily murmuring aside to no one, his words just loud enough to be heard but quiet enough to suggest he was somewhat reluctant to be registered. Noonahootin's head twisted to look behind him at the toad, indignant fury shaking the bird and sculpting his marred face into a wrathful mask. With a snarl of frustration, Noonahootin let Zevka up, whirling about and stalking away. He shouted miserably over his shoulder, ordering Istvan to organize a scavenging party while he went and kept watch for any sign of the harfang. He had to get _away_ from these wretches. Greenfleck had hit the mark, and Noonahootin knew he had gone too far.

With a few quick beats of his wings, Noonahootin took off, seething so much that he barely registered the shudder in his shoulder. The cool air calmed him almost immediately, and he drew deep breaths as he sought out a solitary place to land. His outburst had been worse than Vanessa losing the food bag, worse than Istvan attempting to press his religion onto Poko...Noonahootin had worked himself right into a conniption like a hysterical _child_! How had he let the damn marten get to him so effectively? She had known just where to prod, and he had swallowed the bait like an empty-headed fish.

"It's my fault...I know," Noonahootin sighed to himself, shaking his head in defeat. He had upset Vanessa, bringing up her father as he had the previous night. The otter couldn't be any happier with him than she was now, having ordered her to stay away from the only beast she had really been connecting to since Kent had died in the road collapse. Worsening the clenching of his gut, Noonahootin had seen the fear in Vanessa's eyes as he had yelled at her so violently, and the grey owl was sorely ashamed.

"Captain Fern would be disappointed with me," the owl sagely theorized. He had let Vanessa lose herself after her father's death when he should have instead stepped in and offered the daughter of his long-time friend the guidance she so sorely had needed. Instead, he had only managed to upset, anger, and scare her. Any trust that had been there was gone now, and the scout knew it would take a long time and much work to repair the shattered bond.

"Ah, Kinnikinnick, my love..." Noonahootin mournfully groaned, looking up to the greying sky in askance. "What would you say if you could see your mate now, shamed and fleeing from a pack of floundering fools...whom he outfooled..."

The owl spotted a rotted tree, barren of much except brown skeletal branches and dried and flaking nettles. Down the centre of its trunk was a wicked scorch mark, black from the heat of the lightening that had struck the wood. He landed on a branch, adjusting himself by the thick trunk, and sat down before he began to preen the feathers on his injured wing.

_I suppose I'll have to apologize to the marten for loosing my temper. She'll probably hold it over my head. Oh yes, no doubt about that._ Such miserable thoughts hounded Noonahootin's mind, and so it was with great reluctance the owl answered when his name was called from the ground beneath his perch.

"Up here, Corporal Istvan."

"Any sign of the white owl, Captain?" the tattooed otter asked, his deep voice steady as always.

"No," Noonahootin replied shortly. "How goes the foraging?"

"Gashrock and Poko are trying to find something to boil water in. Some sort of nettle tea while they wait for Risk to return."

"It's something," the owl said sadly, although his interests had been perked. Warm, comforting tea would be rather nice right about then...Perhaps it would make breaking the news of Risk's almost certain doom easier if it were done with warm bellies.

"You did the right thing, keeping Corporal Fern away from Blackbriar," Istvan suddenly said, looking up at the captain and maintaining his gaze. It was respectful, Noonahootin supposed, but somehow it just didn't translate properly from the otter and instead only caused Noonahootin to feel less comfortable than he had been before. "The marten is a terrible influence on Guardsbeast Fern. On _everybeast_. It is beasts like her that lure the innocent away from the All-Mother's way."

All Noonahootin could do was hum in acknowledgement, pretending to be preoccupied with scanning the skies. He swallowed down his regret, and instead responded very lightly, trying to seem as unconcerned as he could. "It isn't plausible. I was angry, far too angry to be throwing my authority around like that. I shall have to apologize to Miss Blackbriar, to the group, and to Guardsbeast Fern. I let the frustration of our endeavour get to me, and behaved very inappropriately." The owl swivelled his head to look at Istvan, tilting his chin down towards the ground-bound otter. "We cannot survive as a group if we are divided, which is precisely what I foolishly attempted to do."

"Admirable as your humbleness is, Captain," Istvan pressed tersely, suddenly very keen. It was a trait the owl was not used to seeing upon the priest unless he was speaking of his beloved deity, and Noonahootin was not sure he liked how eagerly Istvan leaned forward. "It is undeniable that the pine marten is guiding the young ferret and the blessed cat down a dark path that their youthful minds can not see past. She is taking advantage of their-"

"She's manipulating them, you mean?" Noonahootin interrupted, and Istvan nodded eagerly. "Into what? What intention does a blue-blooded scholar like Miss Blackbriar have with a wet behind the ears ferret and a disturbed wildcat? No, Corporal, here is where I must admit my old gizzard isn't always honest when it comes to her kind. She's a vermin, true, but she's from an old family. The Blackbriar line can be traced back farther than even Ashleg of Kotir. She's educated, and it shows; she has a head on her shoulders, and although she chooses to use it for _less than pleasant_ games, as is sometimes the case..." The owl paused, and twirled his moustache with his talons, spinning the long feathers encompassing his beak around his curved claws as he struggled to find the proper words.

"Well," he began again, "I realize she got as agitated as she did only when she perceived my behaviour towards Guardsbeast Fern to be unacceptable. And her head was suffering. And she was right."

"Captain, she's trying to manipulate us _all_," Istvan insisted, spreading his paws wide as he pleaded for his superior officer to see the writing on the wall. "Cozying up with Guardsbeast Fern so that the Yew Guard will trust her, pretending to care about the young ones, sympathizing with the murderer-harbouring Dewhurst players! Captain! Surely you see it!"

"I see a long journey ahead, and plenty of time to observe your suspicions," Noonahootin said decisively, weary of another argument with one of his own. "For now, in these early days, we must simply find a way to maintain our luck. Somehow, we must survive."

As his words came out in a steady current of time-earned confidence, the owl had spied something in the sky. There were clouds, grey and heavy with snow, where before the sky had been barren, but there was also a single white speck gliding smoothly around the mountain where the group had camped not long ago.

"The harfang," Noonahootin gasped, and hastily commanded the corporal to find cover. Istvan dove behind the tree into a snow bank, and remained completely still. The owl watched the white fleck in the distance, concentrating all his efforts onto figuring out the silent devil's pattern: how she used the air currents to guide her path, how she lazily circled and swooped only enough to frisk the warmer air found at road level, how she stayed within a marked area and explored every inch of it from the air before branching out just slightly..

"She's hunting us," Noonahootin breathed. "Corporal, get back to the others as quickly as you can. Tell them the harfang is out. No smoke, no fire. I don't want her coming back this way. If she thinks we've gone farther than we have, good. Gives us precious time. We'll lay low for now. Tea will have to wait."

"And Risk, Captain?"

The owl stared hard over the mountain range. "I don't believe Risk will be coming back."


	28. The Mentor

**28. The Mentor**

_By: Poko_

A trickle of musical notes carried through the crisp winter air as a fine crystalline dust blew in sparkling swirls around the young ferretmaid, Poko. The words to the song were all mixed up in her memory, so the tune was mostly made up of "da"s and "la"s with something about "water pixies and silver fishies." She swung her arms and danced a few steps through the snow before jumping behind a tree and squinting back at the smoldering campfire. She was not too far away, yet it was far enough for privacy. She put her back to the tree and reached into one of the many inner pockets of her hedgehog costume to pull out a dried piece of fish to gnaw on. She had Gashrock to thank for the added storage space. The rat was almost as fond of pockets as Poko was, though for other reasons. In this white-washed, barren land, the ferret had no need for stage props and confetti, but ample need for extra food rations. Poko was, in fact, very pleased with herself for thinking ahead. She could take care of herself as well as anybeast.

Above her the pale morning sun shone, illuminating the dazzle of the snow-laden trees. Poko focused on her breakfast, savoring each bite. The sound of chewing masked the scrunch of footsteps approaching until suddenly the ferret felt herself seized by the scruff of her costume. Poko gasped and nearly choked as she spun around to face the black belt of a blue Yew guard uniform. Her eyes moved up, following the brass buttons until they reached Istvan's grim, tattooed face.

"Where did you get that food?" the otter's deep voice rumbled. Above him a dead tree stretched naked and black into the gray sky and a crow cawed ominously in the distance. This close Poko could see the dark maroon stains that spotted his otherwise official-looking coat. "Did I not explain to you the nature of sins, including stealing, and the consequences?"

"But it's mine!" Poko squeaked. "I didn't steal nothin'!" She dropped the half-eaten piece of meat in her agitation as she struggled against his restrictive hold. Her arms arched, partly suspended in the seams of the spikey robe.

"Then why did you not share this food with the group? Killing other beasts by allowing them to starve is still murder."

Poko squinted one eye up at the surly otter, "I'm not killin' anybeast! Nobeast starves to death in one day. Besides, the other otter – the one that can swim – is bringing us back fish!"

The jibe had little effect on the otter's expression or tone. "So then why did you not tell us about this food after Guardsbeast Vanessa and I failed to catch fish last night? Were you planning to wait until beasts start dropping dead before you would share?"

"It's only a little! It's not enough for everybeast – leggo of me!" she snarled, trying to pull away. Her feet kicked at the snow until green grass poked through.

"You have still not answered my question." His grip tightened as he leaned in. "Where did you get this food?" His breath smelled like decomposing flesh and Poko made a face.

"It's mine - I _told_ ya! The toad said it was for me when he came out of the ground! You were there!" Poko pushed uselessly at his strong paw, grunting with frustration. Her self-defense lesson had been too limited.

"He may have given it to you first, but that sack belonged to the group as a whole. Not to you alone. You had to know this. Why else would you sneak away from the rest of us to partake of it?" His words probed relentlessly, digging and picking at her insides like he knew there was filth deep down.

This conversation was not going the way Poko had expected. If she had just lied and told him Cookie had given it to her, he would have left her alone. But she had been so sure of her innocence that she had not seen the need to lie.

She decided to try another tack.

"I thought you said kits were precious and the All-Mother doesn't want bad things to happen to them! Greenfleck told me to help myself because he knew I'm the most likely to be affected by not having enough food."

"You are no innocent kit. You knew the guilt of your crime and did not want your shame to be revealed to the rest of us."

Her temper flared at his unwavering accusation. "I ain't ashamed of nothin' you flea-pickin' waterdog! Put me down!" She thrashed and kicked at him, but his reach was too long.

"I am sorry," he said, drawing his knife. "If you refuse to acknowledge your sin of stealing food from the mouths of hungry beasts, the punishment will only increase in severity."

The ferret froze at the sight of the weapon, mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Wh-what? But - but I didn't steal nothin'!" she whimpered, beginning to quake visibly at the nearness of the sharp, curved blade. "What're you gonna do?" She shrunk back within the costume as if she could vanish into it if she willed herself hard enough.

"I am going to give you the greatest gift anybeast can receive: the opportunity to atone for your sins."

Poko's face paled beneath her fur and she writhed in desperation. She was halfway out of her hedgehog costume when Istvan spun her around and shoved her down, pinning her casually to the ground with a knee in her back so that she could not bite, scratch or kick him. It was evident that he had handled far greater resistance in the past.

Poko cried out with alarm as she felt the one arm that had been freed from the costume forcefully turned, palm-side up. She felt the scratch of the knife point as the otter sought the right vein amidst the black fur of her forearm, then it stopped. Poko wailed, believing it had found its mark, bracing every muscle in her body for the sharp, lancing pain. Instead she heard a rough, female voice.

"If you so much as cut one hair on that kit I will cut _you_, otter."

"Zevka!" Poko turned her head as best as she could and saw the pine marten standing directly behind Istvan with her sword drawn. He was frozen with the ornamental, curved knife poised against Poko's skin.

"This kit has been stealing from the group. She must pay for her crime." He seemed determined despite the marteness's threat.

"Not like this," Zevka snarled, taking another step toward the otter. Poko saw Istvan's back arch slightly as he too felt the point of a blade touch his skin. Zevka's breath came in visible puffs, "Bleeding a hungry kit in the middle of the mountains is about one step up from killing her. Every one of us needs to be in top condition if we're to live."

The otter's eyes narrowed with merciless derision. "Not all of us deserve to live. This life is a gift you all take for granted. This one has tainted the All-Mother's life-blood within her. There must be recompense."

The light in the sky dimmed as a cloud moved in front of the sun and Poko shivered, feeling her breath come fast.

"I have no problem maiming or killing you, otter." Zevka warned with a curl of her lip. "I'll deal with the consequences later."

For one chilling moment, Poko wondered if Istvan would cut her anyway, but then he re-sheathed his blade and stood, turning to face the pine marten. The instant his knee was off her back, Poko leapt to her feet and fled, leaving the thick hedgehog costume where it was trapped still under his boot. Her heart raced and her legs pumped with a speed she had never known before, despite her bandaged footpaw.

The young ferret tore across the forested mountainside, her brightly embroidered vest flapping at her arms like colorful bunting wings. Behind her she heard another beast in hot pursuit, pushing noisily through the low-hanging branches that she had ducked. Poko looked over her shoulder with apprehension as the footsteps drew near, then relaxed noticeably when she realized it was Zevka, not Istvan.

"Poko – stop! He's not following you!"

"Oh good." She slowed to catch her breath. "That otter is _crazy!_" She shivered, wrapping her arms around her body and panting.

"Yes. Yes he is," Zevka huffed, also recovering her breath, "He's completely out of control – he could have killed you! Is Noonahootin insane, keeping a beast like that around?" She came up beside the young ferret and handed her the battered hedgehog costume. Poko accepted it gratefully, sliding her scrawny arms into the warm sleeves and pulling it tight against her slim form. She shook still even after the chill was dispelled, eyes wide.

"Oh, Fates, I'm sorry Poko. You've been through 'Gates lately, and this is just the latest thing."

The ferret crossed her arms self-consciously and shrugged, "Gotta learn to look out for myself I guess." She meant to sound nonchalant, but failed.

Zevka winced at Poko's words. "I've been trying to look out for you...but I guess I haven't been doing real well at that, have I?"

Poko toed a circle in the snow. "Yeah, well... I guess it's been hard with Nyika getting in the way all the time."

"I'm trying to keep both of you safe. I don't want either of you getting hurt or lost." Zevka shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes before setting a paw to Poko's shoulder, looking directly into the little ferret's shiny black eyes. "The wilderness is not the only place where a kit like you or Nyika might be eaten alive. The world is not nice to young female vermin who don't have anybeast."

Zevka pursed her lips and looked back in the direction of the camp. "But what Nyika said at the lake...I should have punched her a second time."

Poko felt suddenly warmer, looking up at the steely-eyed pine marten as they started back the way they came. "She's a mangey-furred liar. Everything she says - all that rot about ghosts - you don't really believe it do you?"

"I don't know." Zevka pushed a snowy branch out of her way. "I'm usually pretty good at spotting chicanery. I don't believe in ghosts...but I think Nyika definitely does." Zevka looked down at the ferretmaid shuffling through the snow beside her. "But I guess being chased by ghosts seems pretty trivial when you've just lost so many real beasts that you cared about."

Poko took the opportunity to air out some of her griefs, batting at a small sapling as she passed. "Then why do you act like you believe her most of the time? Why do you hold her paw and...and treat her like she's all frail and helpless? She's just been manipulating you! Why can't you see that?" The ferret reached out and pulled a switch from a tree. "She's not a little kitten - she's half grown!" Poko whipped the thin branch through the air, relishing the whooshing sound it made as she limped along.

Zevka frowned. "Yes...I saw that yesterday." The marteness sighed, ducking yet another tree branch and cringing as a sprinkle of snow fell down the neck of her tunic. "And maybe she _is_ manipulating me. Maybe Nyika is just a truly fantastic actress. But, on the other paw...I think that whatever else she is, she's also a frightened beast who seems to be all alone in the world, and who probably really thinks she sees a lot of terrifying things."

Poko hopped up on an old rotting log, lashing lines across it with her springy switch. "She doesn't fool me. I knew when she said she saw my Mati but not my Papa she was lying. And then when she saw I wasn't fooled, she stopped trying to make me believe." The ferret paused and looked at Zevka. "Now she just makes things up to be mean." She threw the switch as far as she could, then sat, shoulders hunched.

"She _was_ making it up," Zevka affirmed, striding over to sit beside the ferret kit. "The things she said about your parents weren't true, and she deserved that punch. " Zevka paused, gathering her thoughts. "But...I'd still rather she didn't die alone and scared on an icy mountain."

Poko crossed her arms again, giving Zevka an annoyed half-frown.

"Hey, I didn't say you had to agree with that..." Zevka ruffled the ferret's head fur.

Poko's frown turned into an involuntary smile and she looked down at her feet. When she looked back up her smile had turned into more of a grimace. "It's just hard, you know. It feels like it's not just you - It's everybeast. You saw how Cookie defended her for no good reason, and then every time I say anything that shows I don't believe her, everybeast scolds me and tells me to hush up." She gestured helplessly with her paws. "Cookie used to be on my side, you know. We used to be buddies - we even had an act together! But somehow she got to him – I don't know how – and instead of sticking up for me, he slugged you for sticking up for me. How's something like that happen? I just don't think she's as vulnerable as you think she is."

"In some ways, perhaps not," the marteness sighed, "but as shrewd as she may be, it's pretty obvious she has no idea how to take care of herself let alone survive in a climate like this – any more than you do."

Poko drew her legs close with her arms and her back arched as she placed her chin atop her knees. "She's still a maggot-mouthed liar. My Mati was no whore, and my Papa wasn't like she said either."

Zevka nodded and put an arm around the young ferret's soft back quills. "I know." The pine marten looked thoughtful as she gazed up at the high mountain pines.

"Poko...Risk and I talked about your parents once, while we were out at the carts with Gashrock. He said that they had their problems, and they fought, and that sometimes they wanted their space from each other, but that they both really, really loved you, and that's what mattered to them much more than anything else. Your family wasn't a lie, Poko."

The ferret breathed deeply and nodded, her nose running wetly from the cold. The dry wind, too, caused her eyes to water.

"And if we get out of this alive," Zevka added, "I want to promise you that you'll have a life after these mountains. That you won't be left to just fend for yourself. I...know some beasts. I have some connections. I can make sure that you don't fall through the cracks."

Poko looked up at the pine marten, lost for words at the unexpected offer of kindness. She swallowed forcefully then grasped the bigger beast with a hug that said it all.

Zevka hugged the ferret back as she leaned her furry cheek against the top of Poko's head. Above them the sun broke through the clouds again.

"Come on. We're almost there." Zevka stood and dusted off her black pants and tail.

Poko slid off the log and joined the pine marten, high-stepping through the snow.

"What if _Corporal Stabby_ tries to grab me again?" Poko queried, trying to sound like she was joking, but with an honest note of worry in her voice as they drew closer to the camp. "What should I do?" The ferret reached out and grabbed Zevka's arm as she slumped unexpectedly into a deeper snow drift.

"We'll have to organize a more comprehensive training session," the marteness concluded resolutely as she helped Poko back onto higher ground. "Maybe, if I can convince Noonahootin to back off, Vanessa and I can teach you some helpful fighting techniques. She's quite good, did you know?" Poko shook her head, smiling fondly up at the pine marten. "And in the meantime," Zevka set her jaw determinedly, "I'll have your back."


	29. Let's Get Down to Business (To Defeat

**29. Let's Get Down to Business (To Defeat...The Moles!)**

_By: Zevka_

A restless Zevka paced up and down the camp, casting an occasional glance at where Nessa was busying herself with trying not to be noticed by anybeast. The marteness had hoped that the air had cleared while she was talking to Poko, but they had come back a good while later, and the argument from earlier still hung over the camp like a muggy haze. She stalked over to Nyika, gravitating to her distinct appearance of boredom.

"I need to get some air, Nyika. Want to come with me? We could see if there's anything else to eat out there, while we're at it."

"I could go for a walk right now, too," Nyika replied as she stretched out, claws peeking out.

"Good. Let me go get Poko."

"Does she _really_ have to go with us?" Nyika asked, her tone leaving little doubt as to the desired response.

Zevka did not oblige her. "Yes."

They found Poko sitting by the fire, tossing ice chips into the flames.

"Hey, Poko. We're going to go look around for a bit. Do you want to come with us?"

"My toe is still..." Poko shot a glance at Istvan, who stared right back at her. "Actually, that sounds like a plan."

The three females made their way into the woods right outside the camp. A light snow had started to fall, and the light refracted beautifully off of the snow that had already accumulated. The effect would have been picturesque, had they been there by choice.

"So, either of you know a decent hangover cure?" Zevka asked, breaking the contemplative silence. "I usually could go for some eggs at a time like this, but somehow, I think that would just make the situation with Noonahootin even worse...actually, scratch that. I'd take a whole woodpigeon. Marinated, nicely seasoned with some sage and rosemary, out of the pan just barely long enough to not burn your mouth..." The marten's voice took on a distinctly wistful tone.

"I prefer fish; they don't talk back when you eat them. Even wood pigeons can get a little affronted," Nyika replied.

"I think I'd settle for some clothes that are dry and don't make me look like a hedgehog," Poko grumbled. She brightened. "But after that, some hot cider, and some hot stuffed pierogi."

"Ooh...I'd have some river shrimp, with vinegar and hotroot. And some of those damson and raspberry turnovers they sell up the street from the circus." Nyika chimed in.

"I love damson! I'll get one of those after my woodpigeon...or maybe I'll get the woodpigeon in a turnover, too." Zevka frowned down at her tunic, which was beginning to look a bit under the weather. "Something clean would be nice. And I might go see that red squirrel - Terrence, I think? - and see if he can't make me look civilized again."

"I'm just waiting for the summer. Long naps in the sun are wonderful," Nyika sighed.

"You can keep your nap! I want to go _do_ things when we get out of here!" Poko chimed in. "I'll climb up the tallest building I can find, I'll go swim in that little stream near Yew - and it wont be cold! I'll grab some pretty things in town, and then go run in the fields!

"Yes. When I find Mekad, we're going to just have this whole day of street theatre and side alley magicians and watching those live fights they sometimes have in town."

"Don't forget the warm nutbread with redcurrant jelly!" Poko added.

Zevka and Nyika both groaned in unison. "I think we're actually just torturing ourselves at this point," Zevka laughed.

"Speak for yourself," Poko said dreamily.

They walked in silence for a bit. Nyika, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, began to wander further and further ahead of the two mustelids. Zevka let her go. She paused, and Poko followed suit.

"Hey Poko?" The marteness unhooked the sheathed dagger from her belt, and handed it to Poko. "I think it might be a good time to give you this."

Poko's eyes went wide as she slowly reached out to accept the dagger, handling it like it was something precious.

"Try to conceal that, if you can. Istvan is much, much stronger than you - if you just lunge at him, he can stop you easily. But if he picks you up, and you can get an arm free, you can go for the face, the neck, his paws and wrists, and so on. You might be able to do enough damage to escape. Same goes for the moles. Don't go charging at them. Wait until they get close."

Poko's eyes grew wide at the suggestions. She swallowed and looked down at the weapon

Turning back to Poko, the marteness looked her straight in the eye. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Poko? Don't be afraid to say 'no;' if you aren't, you could wind up hurting yourself."

"I..." The ferret's brow creased as she looked longingly at the coveted blade. She stroked it, then hugged the scabbard to her chest. "I'm ready."

"Zevka! Poko! Get over here, I found something!" Nyika's voice rang out from some ways ahead. The cat sounded startled, but not truly frightened.

"What is it, Nyika?" Zevka replied.

"Dead beasts!"

Poko rolled her eyes, but Zevka frowned and walked forward a few steps, paw on the hilt of her sabre. The marteness craned her neck forward, trying to see what lay ahead.

_Sometimes, I wonder if those 'spectacle' things would be a good idea..._

"The kind I can see, Nyika?"

"Just come over here!" the wildcat responded.

Zevka and Poko walked towards Nyika's voice, its owner standing in a small clearing in the forest. The sight that confronted them was a fox's half-frozen paw sticking up from the snow. Zevka grimaced, and walked into the clearing. Just visible over the top of the snow were the bodies of several other beasts. Zevka walked over to one of them, a squirrel. It was impossible to tell for sure how long he had been dead. Eyeless sockets and a tongueless mouth grimaced at her from a skull whose partially fur-less skin had taken on a leathery look. Apparently, the ravens had found fresher victuals, and nature had taken its own sweet time with the normal process of decomposition.

"These aren't...they _couldn't_ be Dewhurst players..." Poko muttered.

Zevka brushed away some of the snow covering the squirrel's chest. The body had been mostly stripped, leaving the squirrel's chest wound exposed to the snow. She looked around at the mixed group. Woodlander or vermin, male or female, rich or poor, good or bad...they had all wound up more or less the same.

"No, I think they must have been from -" Zevka's throat tightened horribly as her eyes went wide upon seeing the carcass of what had once been a wildcat with black-spotted grey fur. The marteness bounded over to the corpse, almost barrelling over Poko in the process. Immediately, all sense of hygiene or propriety tossed aside, she began digging furiously, then seized the corpse under its arms and dragged it into a more upright position, trying to get a better look at it. Little scraps of cold-embalmed skin and fur rubbed off on the marteness, but she didn't care.

"Zevka, what are you-" Nyika started to say.

"QUIET!" Zevka snapped without a break in her efforts. This corpse still had some clothing on it, which Zevka immediately sniffed at, then pulled away from the corpse. She continued to examine the body for a few moments. Poko and Nyika exchanged a glance, wondering if their friend had taken leave of her sanity. Finally, the marteness sat back, eyes closed, tears welling up behind her eyes.

"Zevka..." Poko started to walk towards the marteness, concern audible in her voice.

"I'm alright! It's not him! It's not Mekad!" The marteness suddenly started laughing. "I...I just lost my head there for a moment! What was I thinking - of course it isn't him! Why am I here? I'm here because _Mekad_ sent me a letter, a letter that only he could have written! I just...I just...I saw the wildcat, the color of his fur, and for a moment...I just forgot. I actually thought it was him for a moment. But it's not him. Too tall. Too paunchy. Wrong scent. Wrong tattoos."

The marteness suddenly realized the disgusting nature of what she had just done, and what was on her clothes and fur. She grimaced, closing her eyes as she tried to keep her composure. "I don't suppose there is some way I can get this stuff off of myself really, _really_ quickly while still looking tough?"

"Uggghh." Poko made a sickened face, brushing unconsciously at her arm as she stared at a bit of gray fur dangling off Zevka's elbow, stuck there by some sort of sticky black rot.

Zevka regained her composure as she finished cleaning her paws and tunic off with snow. "Well, it looks like the moles may not have totally finished looting this group, whoever they were."

"They were another expedition, but not like ours. This one seems to have been expecting a fight," Nyika said.

Zevka caught herself glancing around uneasily, almost in spite of herself. "Are any of them..._still around?_"

Nyika shook her head. "Nope. They've all moved on by now. But look at them. A mix of vermin and woodlanders, but unlike ours, there are no kits, no oldbeasts, nobeast who looks crippled. Their clothing looks like it was meant for winter, but none of it is very fancy. It all fits together."

Zevka considered this for a moment. "That makes sense. And I do remember hearing about another party that didn't ever make it home, during last winter. But why would they just march off into the mountains ready for a fight? The point of going into the mountains isn't to chase moles, the point is to travel to Carrigul. What happened to them?"

The marteness frowned. "I know it's distasteful, but we have to search the bodies for anything useful."

Poko made a face. "Do we have to?"

Nyika had already started to move towards one of the squirrels. "They are well past having any more desire for their belongings. These beasts are all on the other side now."

Poko still looked troubled. "Can we at least cover them?"

Zevka looked at the young ferret. "Yes, we can do that."

The search of the bodies was not as productive as Zevka had hoped, but it did yield one relatively nice cloak that had had only limited contact with decomposing flesh. They also found a long length of rough rope, some bandages and a few bottles and flasks, although none were labeled. The only weapon was a halberd that presented the same problem to Zevka, Nyika and Poko that had probably saved it from the moles - it was just too big for them to move.

"We need to head back. I have some talking I have to do with Noonahootin - I have to tell him what we found here, and see if he knows anything. He may be a stodgy old prat, but we all need each other right now, and he _is_ a captain in the Yew Guard. Need to talk to Nessa, too." She looked at Nyika and Poko. "We're going to give teaching you how to fight one more attempt."

When the trio finally reached the camp again, Zevka immediately sought out the owl, while Poko and Nyika went to go sit down. The distance between the two of them suddenly seemed like it was taking her a long time to traverse. As her path took her past Goragula, she knelt down next to the toad, making sure that her back was superimposed between Noonahootin and Greenfleck.

"Greenfleck, I found this cloak out there. I thought it might be useful to you," she said aloud. Her voice became much quieter. "Otter's getting worse. He tried to cut Poko, he may try again. We need to think of something, and fast."

Goragula's cold gaze made the marteness glad that they were discussing somebeast else. "I don't need to do much more thinking."

"We'll talk later," Zevka muttered, as she got up and started on the walk towards Noonahootin.

Noonahootin's back was to the marteness as she approached. His head swivelled around to face her.

"Miss Blackbriar." The owl's voice was rather chilly, but had none of the anger behind it that had been so abundant before. If anything, the owl seemed to hesitate just a bit.

"Captain."

The two stood there awkwardly for a moment. Finally, Zevka broke the silence.

"So. We had a pretty nasty argument."

"Indeed."

"And that's not good at all," Zevka continued, as a more meaningful statement struggled valiantly to climb its way up her throat, its muscles bulging with strain as it fought a losing battle to keep climbing.

"Most certainly not," Noonahootin replied.

"No, definitely isn't."

"By no means."

The marteness and the owl stood there for a few minutes before Zevka could finally force the words out of her muzzle.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. We have more than enough problems as it is without me throwing rocks at you."

"Indeed...which is all the more reason why I should not have lost my temper like that. A captain in the Yew Guard does not throw tantrums."

Zevka blinked in surprise. "I...did say some rather awful things."

"Yes. But that does not make my response to the situation logical or right. Ordering Guardsbeast Fern to shun you when we're all trying to survive...was not the best course of action." The rest of the owl's body turned to face Zevka. "And perhaps your heart was in the right place. You come from a good family, Miss Blackbriar, and you've had an education. Descendant of Ashleg, if I recall."

Zevka raised an eyebrow. "I think you may actually be the first beast I've met to figure that out without being told. His second daughter was one of my father's ancestors. Ashleg has way too many descendants running around - Mum was the most eligible jill in miles when she was my age because of the fact that she didn't have a flipping thing to do with him." She shook her head. "Where did you find that out, anyways?"

"_Unintended Nobility: A History of Ashleg and his Progeny,_ by Sazlit Ashtown."

Zevka leaned forward. "I...really must get the name of your bookseller if we ever get back to Yew. I didn't know there were copies floating around this far South. That was one thing I miss about Stevat Academy - such a library there. Even had a _Commentaries on Senviat Tavvus and His Campaigns._ One of my favorites."

Noonahootin nodded. "Whatever else you may be, Miss Blackbriar, yooHoo are certainly not rabble."

Zevka suddenly laughed a bit. "You know something, Noonahootin? I think I know why we don't like each other: in some ways, we're just too damn similar to get along." She became more serious. "Well, I think we're in agreement, then."

"Indeed."

"So...I've been thinking. We can't just sit here and wait for the moles to come and get us. We need to have a plan," Zevka said.

"Quite right. The primary problem is that our conditions do not lend themselves to an offensive. Three able-bodied guardbeasts, yourself and Greenfleck, accompanied by two beasts who cannot fight and one with little experience, and with few weapons between us. We don't even have a bow, while the moles surely have some kind of projectile. We need at all costs to avoid becoming too exposed to their fire."

"Yes, we do, and as if that wasn't enough, we have to be careful what we stand or sleep on, because they could tunnel right under us." Zevka frowned. "I wonder...do you think we can get enough good quality branches to make some spears or javelins? Give us something to throw at them?"

"Any wood we use for that is wood we can't burn."

"I know, but we have enough of it, we really need more weapons, and I can't think of what else to use."

"The Mother has given us plenty of rocks, and many beasts have wielded a sling." Istvan had seen Zevka and Noonahootin's conversation, and decided to join in.

Zevka pressed her teeth shut behind her lips, absolutely determined not to say to Istvan any of the things that were springing into her mind.

_Damn you, Greenfleck, but you have a point...no use in pushing him. Especially now. _

"That's...not a bad idea, Istvan."

"No, it certainly is not." Noonahootin looked pensive. "They will want to prepare to attack by sending scouts. If we could capture one..."

"Greenfleck could take care of the rest," Zevka said.

Istvan frowned, but Noonahootin did not seem perturbed.

"I suppose he could."

Zevka's stomach growled. The marteness snapped her claws. "That's another thing. Moles are herbivores. It is _much_ too cold up here for them to grow much during most of the year. So where are their supplies? Do they have a storehouse or something? They can't _just_ survive on caravans. There simply are not enough of them, and they don't keep any kind of regular schedule." The marteness paused.

"By the way, we found the remains of another expedition. Moles got them, then crows. But that just proves my point - this sort of thing is just too rare for it to keep them alive all year."

"They have stores somewhere. If we could destroy them somehow, raid them, that'd be handy. Is it possible, do you think, to...coerce one of their own into poisoning their own supplies?" Noonahootin asked. Istvan looked slightly surprised. Zevka grinned.

"I like the way you think. Too bad we don't have much poison. Well, any poison, really, except for..." Zevka jerked her paw at Greenfleck.

Istvan looked increasingly uncomfortable, and Noonahootin noticed.

"Easy on, Corporal. They have no qualms with killing us. I'm sure your All-Mother would forgive her most dedicated priest if he sent a few heretics her way." Noonahootin said.

Zevka couldn't resist a smile at this statement.

Istvan still looked unsettled. "I...was not entirely prepared to give multiple beasts a bloodless death. If their blood remains trapped in their bodies..."

"Well...I suppose you could always do penance for them, right?" Zevka said, not feeling much sorrow at the idea of Istvan bleeding himself a bit more. "You _are_ the All Mother's favorite, most loyal follower. Surely she would accept a sacrifice from you."

Istvan was not amused. Zevka decided not to push the issue.

"I also think that we should make a real effort at making sure Poko and Nyika learn how to defend themselves. We can't always be protecting them every minute of the day. They need to be able to survive if the moles get the drop on us."

"Agreed. Perhaps you could do that later today."

The marten nodded. "I'd love to..." Zevka hesitated for a few moments. "But it would be very useful if I had another beast to help me out..." _I can't NOT push my luck with an opening like this._

Noonahootin harrumphed. Zevka got the impression he knew where she was going. "Why don't you get started. I will...decide who should help you. As I recall, Guardsbeast Fern is a good fighter. I will send her over when she gets back from fishing."

Zevka nodded, trying very hard not to grin widely. "I think I will do just that..."

As she walked away from Noonahootin, it occurred to Zevka that she had not asked Noonahootin as much about the remains as she had meant to.

_Hmm. I'll have to ask him about that at some point...after the fighting lesson!_

Letting her smile grow wider, Zevka began planning out a lesson in her head.

-

"So, let's see if we can't keep this one both productive _and_ semi-civilized!" Zevka was stretching as she spoke to Nyika and Poko. The ferret sprite looked both excited and a bit apprehensive as she glanced at Nyika, who merely gave her a slightly nervous glance and flexed her paws. Her claws did not come out. They did not have to.

"Like I said before, this is no substitute for years of experience. If you can get away, then do so. But by the time we finish this, I want you to be able to at least give one of those moles a few nasty injuries. You do have somewhat of an advantage - you're bigger and faster above ground, and you have fangs. You, Nyika, have claws, and Poko has my dagger. Now, what we're going to do..." Zevka's ears perked up as she heard footsteps.

"The Cap'n tol' me tae come and help yae out with this, Zevka," Nessa said as she strode over to the marteness. "Somethin' about teachin' Nyika and Poko how to fight?"

"Exactly!' Zevka said happily.

"Ah...dinnae think that he was goin' to let me, Zevka. Glad Ah was wrong."

"Me too."

Both jills were grinning like loons.

Zevka pulled her scabbard off of her belt, and removed the sword, leaning it against a rock. She whirled the empty scabbard around a few times. "Since Poko has a dagger, I'm going to start with some really basic bladework. Nyika, we'll get you a blade as soon as we can. I'm sorry. Tonight, we're also going to take some branches and see if we can't make some spears or javelins with fire-hardened points. Under normal circumstances, you would never want to be caught without a real weapon."

"Ha!"

Zevka turned around and looked at Nessa. "Something funny about that?"

Nessa gave a cocky grin. "What the deuce are ye talkin' about, Zevka? Ye don' need a weapon - Ah never do."

Zevka blinked. "Wait - you fight unarmed _by choice_?"

Nessa flexed a bit. "Ah've had a lot of practice, and a great teacher."

"Yes, but what if the beast you're up against has a bow? Or throwing knives? Or a spear or a sword?"

"That's whah ye need to be quick!"

Zevka still looked dubious. This seemed to just make Nessa more eager. "Ah'll show ye, Zevka!"

Zevka whirled her "sword" a few times, then took up a fencing position. "You're on, Nessa."

Nessa quickly dashed in towards Zevka, ducking under the pine marten's swing of her scabbard, but failing to tackle the marteness, who sidestepped the otter and then lunged forward. Nessa was too quick, however, and grabbed ahold of Zevka's wrist, pulling the pine marteness in. Zevka let out a loud exhalation as Nessa whirled her onto the floor and then dropped down to pin her.

The otter looked up at Nyika and Poko. "See! Don't ever underestimate the - hey!"

Zevka had taken advantage of the otter's distraction to slip out of her hold and reverse their positions, shoving Nessa down into the snow. The two jills grappled for a bit, until Zevka managed to put Nessa into a loose headlock.

"Hey, I grew up wrestling a wildcaaaa-!" Zevka's eyes widened as Nessa was able to flip her over and pin her again.

_Wouldn't Risk just _love_this..._ Zevka thought, as, after a few moments of struggling, she decided to tap out. Zevka suddenly felt a small surge of sadness well up in her at the ferret's absence. She would have never imagined that she would actually miss the kind of crass humor in which Risk had specialized.

The moment passed as Nessa helped the marteness stand up, a smirk hovering on her muzzle. "Ah told ye so..."

"So, let's try this again!" Zevka said, trying to look stern.

"Careful what ye ask fer, Zevka!"

Zevka swung her scabbard "sword" at Nessa, who dodged the initial swing, but didn't quite manage to escape the secondary flick of Zevka's wrist that sent the tip of the scabbard scoring across Nessa's hip. The otter stepped inside Zevka's next jab. Zevka managed to avoid the two punches that Nessa sent at her face, although she might not have been able to do that if Nessa's paws had been moving at full speed. The marteness leapt back and managed to score a very solid hit across Nessa's left forearm, but before she could try to repeat the move, Nessa had stepped in, grabbed Zevka's shoulder with her right paw and swept Zevka off her balance. The marteness crashed down into the snow, and this time Nessa was faster about pinning her.

"Ah win again."

Zevka sat up. "Yes, but this is why I was telling both of you to run if you can. Nessa did beat me, but I got in what would have been some nasty slashes. Nessa would have been left bleeding heavily, and either injury could easily go septic in these mountains, with no real healers in our group.

Nessa frowned. "Aye, that's trae..."

The two jills got up again. This time, Zevka backed up further. As Nessa moved in, Zevka pulled her arm back and threw her scabbard. Caught completely off guard, Nessa yelped as the tip of the scabbard hit her hard in the ribs.

"Oy! What's the big idea, Zevka?"

Zevka gestured at Nessa. "Sometimes, throwing your blade is the best policy. Especially one like the one I gave you, Poko. It flies pretty well. And it's a good trick to know."

Nessa smirked. "Not if'n it's me..."

"Oh, SCAT!" Zevka's eyes widened as the otter charged her.

Several exchanges later, Poko finally spoke up for both herself and Nyika. The two younger beasts were still seated where they had first sat down to watch the two older females.

"Umm...that looks like a lot of fun, but can we really use all of this stuff?"

Zevka's ear twitched. "You know what, Nessa? She has a point. Maybe we should start with something more basic."

Nessa chuckled. "Heh. Reckon ye're right, Zevka. Gather round, everybeast, and watch close. This is how ye punch a beast so they feel it..."


	30. Gin and Tonic

**30. Gin and Tonic**

_By: Gashrock_

"It is getting late," said Noonahootin. "Even a night owl must admit that going out at this hour would be ill-advised."

"Aye, we should stay close tae the fire in this weather," Fern said.

"Very well. Tomorrow, we can search, but then we ought to be on the march."

"Searchin' for what?" asked Gashrock.

"Cookie—er—Mister Risk—er—your friend has been gone quite a while."

Gashrock sighed. "He—ain't comin' back. For the rest of our sakes, it's safer. Also he's got a plan for killin' molebeasts."

"Wot? Ye sure?" asked Fern.

Gashrock glanced over at Poko. The ferret was hardly ignorant from death, having faced her parents' like a grown beast. And yet...Cookie had had too many contingency plans, was the problem, it was hardly fair to expect her to keep track."Sure I'm sure. I mean, this _is_ Cookie we're talkin' about, he could beat us all to Carrigul iffen he wanted. And if he does, well, I'll bray him, messin' up my ballad like that." She nodded down at his hat, the knife gently stacked on top of it. "Reckon we should bring these along."

"What's that ye've got there?" asked Fern, nodding at the jar next to them.

"They ain't pro-vi-shuns for all of us, nor for me," she said, "They're—uh. Poko, Nyika?"

"Yeah?" said Poko as she grabbed the hat and shoved it on, pulling the flaps down over her ears. She was followed soon after by a Nyika that looked none-too-thrilled about being called to the same conversation.

"These is from Cookie, for you. Dunno if he ever did _cook_ them exactly, er...here."

"What's that say?" Poko asked, glancing down at the lid. Gashrock half-remembered Raul bemoaning the lack of books he could use, to teach...

"Wait a tick," said Nyika, "that's not even—"

"It says it's for you two," Gashrock snapped again, reaching for the lid and quickly opening it. "Now, either of you ever heard Sliteye's Riddle?"

Blank stares.

"Don't matter. Point is, Poko, you split these up into two piles—even as can be, and then Nyika gets to choose which one she wants, you take the other. That way it's fair."

"I hope there's some licorice," said Nyika.

"Licorice? Ugh!" Poko gagged for effect. "How could you like something so foul?"

Nyika shrugged. "It tastes like death."

Poko shuddered as she began sorting the candies one by one.

Well, that was another way, Gashrock supposed. Sliteye's Riddle was really for dividing up loot, mixed piles of gold and jewels that were difficult to sort through. Right up there in the annals of vermin lore with "iffen a searat and his father get shot and wounded and the healer says "I ain't treatin' that 'un on account of he's my son," how long do you have before the hares come back and shoot you again" and "iffen you meets a couple mice, one who always lies and one who always tells the truth, how do you convince yer mate that yer dreamin' cause there ain't no such thing as a lyin' mouse, fool simplebeasts."

The more common solution to the riddle, she remembered, was for one beast to kill the other and take the lot. It wasn't clear that Poko and Nyika _wouldn't_ discover that, but she had to have hope.

"Are you—alright?" asked Noonahootin.

"Aye."

"It's natural, to be worried about your friend."

"I ain't worried, we can head out."

"How's your leg?"

"I can walk."

"Might I have a look at it?" He waved her aside.

She took a quick step back, landing on the bad leg and trying not to wince. "No."

"Steady now, Missus Gashrock, I just thought I'd offer you a touch of the old sailor's brew. Some gin, girl, some gin! Alcohol helps fight off disease, don't you know."

"Alcohol?"

"It won't take much, don't worry."

"I know, leg ain't big and the wound's smaller, you don't have to go on about it."

"Well, all right, then."

The owl reached into his robes, hastily covering over an array of meat that instilled no confidence whatsoever in Gashrock. But then he'd produced a small flask, and carefully, he dabbed a few drops on her leg. She turned away, staring at the others—surely he would not try something, with them right there—but just as quickly, he'd pulled back, and she found herself exhaling. It stung, but it could have been worse.

"There you are," he said. Could beaks smile? "How about a proper sip? For medicinal purposes, you know."

She weighed the tin in her paw. It wasn't familiar grog, but it would be a nice comfort, a distraction from the pain, from Cookie, the ruddy moles, the uncertain march ahead. She thought of Nyika and Poko, who had treats to savor...and then of Istvan and his quiet conviction, that some things were just wrong, once and for all, and that was that. "Ain't thirsty."

"Don't you worry, it's my treat."

"I ain't," she repeated, "besides, it's good enough for my leg, innit? Didn't know it could do that. Could be the real prack-tick-al advantages are for puttin' it just on your skin, see, I'll 'appen that's it."

"Well, all right."

"Thank you. For, y'know, the leg." _And not eating me._

Testing the weight, pleasantly surprised, Gashrock backed away from him only to find Nyika, food at the ready. "You divide those spices up?"

"Yes," said Nyika.

"That's good."

"Er—I was wonderin'—I'm a fortune teller, you see?"

"That's what I heard, aye."

"So—maybe—once we make it back to Carrigul—could I join the troupe?"

Gashrock blinked. "What troupe?"

"The Dewhurst—"

"There ain't no Dewhurst troupe! On account of Dewhurst is dead! And Cookie is off, and Poko—you want to be in a troupe with _Poko_, oh aye?"

"It wouldn't have to be just Poko. The others could come! I bet you Zevka could walk on the wires, Goragula could hold up hoops for little jumpin' grasshoppers, Noonahootin could lift beasts right up into the sky, Istvan could be a clown. Nessa could get...er..."

"Sawed in half by a blade? Iffen I wanted a bunch of ruddy old otters to do my work I'd go and comm—un—deer a slave ship."

"Well...maybe we could be in a play?"

"Good 'un. I'll write it. About a cat who doesn't eat the rats she knows. You'll be brill-yent. Or at least, ain't no typecastin'."

"It'll be all right," Nyika offered.

Well, maybe it would be. Nyika would be perfectly suited for _Cat On A Cold Stone Roof_. Or, better, Noonahootin would do Gashrock a favor and leave her alone. Then he could star in _Farewell Farewell Fowl!_

Although that, alas, might be too implausible.

"Er, wait a tick." Gashrock paced over to find the knife, offering it to Nyika. "Cookie wanted me to give this to you."

"Why?"

"Like I know." It was all well and good to arrange props, but really, having to arm a cat was a new low.

Nyika stared down at the blade, finally saying "He killed my mother with this knife."

"Well, it's got some...sen-ti-men-tal values?"

The wildcat stiffened. "I don't want it."

"What'm I supposed to do? Give it to Poko? Hardly seems fair." She could always find something to do with it, really. If she had to stack one more log of firewood—which wasn't unlikely—there was always the chance she'd be moved to chuck it in. Melt down the knife of Risk the Cutter into a charming little bracelet, to match her fine new necklace.

At that, Nyika reached out and took the knife, holding it awkwardly. She fumbled for a grip, then paced away. Gashrock turned and walked on, the last drop of gin trickling down to her footpaw as she shivered.

"You have a moment?" called Blackbriar.

Gashrock glanced at her, Risk's warning echoing through her mind. "What do you want?"

"Easy, now. I wanted to talk about Poko."

"What about her?"

"You know her as well as anyone here. Without her parents or Risk to look out for her, you should—keep an eye on her. The last thing we need is Istvan giving her any more trouble."

So much for the growing up quickly notion. "She's not a kit, she can take care of herself or live with the con-see-kwences. Why is she _my_ problem?"

"Istvan is dangerous and crazy, and Poko is not used to being all alone!"

"I know her better than you do, she's used to being alone—on her own and causing trouble, is what. And that otter ain't mad, he's talkin' sense every now and then. Ain't the kind of sense I'm used to, but every beast for himself, eh?"

"What do you mean?" Blackbriar asked, with a hint of trepidation.

"Meant what I said, didn't I? Poko's had seasons to learn how to pick pockets. And Istvan—he thinks—rules is rules, same for everybeast, past and present. I ain't about to start slicin' anybody up out of the blue, least of alls dumb ferrets, but that's hardly all rubbish."

"So, maybe that part isn't," the marteness conceded. "Still, you weren't there when he grabbed Poko before—I'm convinced that he would have seriously hurt her. Not to mention that his knife is probably a septic infection waiting to happen."

"What's a septic in-fecshin?"

"It's where your wound starts rotting, and then the rot gets into your blood and starts eating you alive. It's a horrible way to go, and I don't happen to think that it's a good punishment for a _hungry kit!_"

"All right, already, I'll keep my eye out for Poko." Blackbriar did have a point, although it wouldn't help to tell her as much. "Just—don't be slow, iffen I needs a favor down the line, right?"

"Deal. What kinds of things might you need?"

"I dunno, do I? I'll think of summat." Blackbriar was one to talk, really—going on about potential luxuries in the desolation of the mountains, and look how far that had gotten either of them.

Gashrock nodded and yawned. It would be easy enough to keep an eye on everyone, she supposed, once their eyes were closed in sleep...


	31. Painting Wings in Shades of Red

**31. Painting Wings in Shades of Red**

_By: Istvan_

Night in the country was much darker than in Yew. That was one of the few things Istvan liked about this otherwise painful excursion. In the dark, the world shrank to a small circle of flickering light populated by nine- eight beasts. Everything was much more manageable that way. There were no unknowns in the fire's circle. Even Nyika's earlier declarations had not unduly shocked the otter. So Cookie was some kind of murderous folk hero, and Greenfleck was somehow connected to the infamous Goragula. It didn't make much of a difference: from what he had seen so far, the both of them deserved a swift return to the Mother no matter what they had done in the past.

Unfortunately Cookie, or Risk as he was apparently called, had escaped justice and gone off to die somewhere. Tomorrow, Istvan vowed to slip away to find the ferret's body and consecrate his death properly. He couldn't have gotten far. And even if he did, the otter would happily undergo any trial to maintain the proper balance of life. However, the rest of the group did not see things that way, and he was beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be easier to wait until they all died, and only then return their lifeblood. But Istvan could not guarantee his own longevity in such a hostile climate, and to die without at least righting those wrongs that were within his reach would be unthinkable.

So that was why he now found it necessary to humble himself before a much younger and less moral beast. The more that he did without causing a fuss meant less imbalance left here when he returned to the Mother, as he expected to do before long.

"Poko?" he asked, shaking her awake.

The young ferret sucked in a great gasp of air upon sight of his face and scrambled backward in an awkward crab-crawl.

Istvan spoke quickly, holding out a staying paw in an attempt to delay the scream he could see rising in her throat, "Please – you have nothing to fear. I wish only to apologize for my behavior earlier. On reflection, some of the things I said were rather... easy to misconstrue."

The ferret's mouth opened and closed a few times. Then she swallowed. "You're not going to cut me?" Her voice was fearful and uncertain.

"Not exactly. I see potential in you, Poko. You care for your parents, and that is very admirable. So I will make a deal. If you allow me to draw your blood to pay for your crime of stealing, I will shed my own for the sins of your parents."

"You really want to cut me, don't you?" Her eyes narrowed and her chin jutted out. "You're using my parents to try to make me believe you just like Nyika tried to do! Well I'll have you know that my parents weren't bad beasts. My Papa took good care of us and my Mati was no whore. I don't care what you or Nyika says!"

Istvan shrugged. "The Mother cares not for the sexual dalliances of mortals. Ideas like 'marriage' are meaningless, the only important thing is the creation of new life. No, I was thinking of how I understand that it was the influence of your father which led you in to stealing."

It had only been a guess, but the ferretmaid's face told him it was correct. The otter allowed himself a brief moment of pride. One did not spend seven seasons in the Guard without seeing the effect of poor parental role models on a young beast. Thankfully, Poko did not seem too far gone for him to save.

"So, if I do what you say, you'll stop him from goin' to... the bad place?"

"In a manner of speaking. It will certainly atone for many of their offenses against the Mother. I did the same for my father, seasons ago."

"Oh, so yer Papa is... What about yer Mati?"

"We're not on good terms at the moment. She did something to destroy my trust in her a long time ago. But when I hear word that she has finally passed, I will perform the same ritual for her. And maybe, by the infinite grace and mercy of the All-Mother, she will be allowed to pass in to her glorious embrace." Istvan realized that he had left himself open to questions that dredged up memories that he would rather stay buried, but thankfully Poko's next statement did not mention his family.

"If it will help them, I guess..." She sniffled.

"Good, very good. I am proud of you." Istvan beamed, an expression which felt foreign to his face. Then he unsheathed his knife, causing the ferretmaid to squeak and jump backwards. But the otter lowered the blade to his own arm, creating a new cut among many and returning yet more of his precious lifeblood to the Mother.

"I've seen you do that before," said Poko, as it drained. "Doesn't it hurt?"

The tattooed otter ripped off a strip from his tunic and wound it tightly around the wound before answering, "The lifeblood is the Mother's, not mine, and I gladly return it to her. I have done this many times."

That was true, but he was not used to donating his own blood so frequently. Usually a bird or fish from the Yew Market was sufficient, along with some forcibly extracted from whatever prisoners (vermin only, otherwise the officers would care- a distinction which Istvan found morally reprehensible) happened to be in the cells at the time. But three times in two days... he was beginning to feel light-headed, though he made sure to conceal that from Poko.

"So... is my papa going to be okay now?" she asked nervously.

"I have done everything I can," he replied, which seemed to satisfy her. "Now, it is your turn."

The ferret squeezed her eyes shut and curled her paws in to fists, but to her credit did not attempt to run away. Istvan took one of those paws, raised his knife over it, then lowered the blade.

He pricked the end of her thumb with the point, causing a tiny drop of blood to well up. The otter watched it intently until it fell to the ground, where it was absorbed in to the living earth.

"There. Your sin is forgiven."

Poko opened her eyes slowly and stared at her paw. "Is... that all? I can't even see it..."

"Your sins were not so heinous as to require a large sacrifice. You are young and were confused. Your transgression does not represent a complete rejection of the Mother."

"But everythin' you said about killin' beasts by lettin' 'em starve..."

"I was telling you what the end result of such behavior would be. But you understood what you did was wrong, and you repented and allowed yourself to be purified."

"What is going on over here?! Poko, didn't I tell you to stay away from him?" Zevka's voice startled the otter so badly that he very nearly returned her to the Mother earlier than he had planned.

"He apologized," she replied. "He said he would help my parents..."

"There's nothing anybeast can do to help your parents now, and they certainly don't need help from a beast like him! Can't you see he's using them to try to get to you?" The irate marten jill turned to Istvan. "And you! How can you justify trying to hurt a kit?"

The otter raised up his arm to show her his new bandage. "Both our parts in this sacrifice have already been completed, and as you can see, she is entirely unharmed and I am not. I would like to hear how you plan to explain me using my own lifeblood to intercede with the All-Mother on her parents' behalf as somehow 'evil.'"

Zevka leaned forward, fangs bared and a growl rising in her throat. "I don't care what you do to yourself. Personally, I think that the world would be much improved if one of those cuts got infected and killed you. But you are not allowed to drag Poko in to this! It may not start out as much, but once you have her under your influence-"

"'ey! Wot're yeh tryin' to do?" Gashrock's shout rang across the clearing, waking up those beasts who had not been stirred by Zevka's shouting. Heads snapped around just in time to see the rat's tail as it disappeared out of the light, borne on top of several shadowy figures.

Zevka said words that Istvan would not have expected from a female of her class, then sprinted after the rat's captors. The otter went first to the fire and grabbed a burning branch to use as a torch, but by the time he did so the pine marten had already vanished in to the darkness. Poko assisted in galvanizing the newly-awoken group by shouting, "They got Gashrock!" and pointing in the direction they had disappeared. Istvan heard a loud clap behind him as he dashed after the other two, which meant that Captain Noonahootin would soon be able to get a clear view of the situation.

For the otter, the going was not so easy. Spindly branches leaned in from just outside his field of vision and scratched at his face, in the flickering half-light looking like the claws of some horrific creature. Grabbing a torch turned out to be the wrong decision, as the bright flame entirely destroyed his night vision, and he could only locate the beasts he was pursuing by sound of the rat's angry shouting. Apparently they realized this, because their captive's voice was soon muffled.

"A bit more to the left, Corporal!" the Captain bellowed from above him.

Istvan adjusted his course accordingly, though the new route forced him to jump over a large boulder and he slipped on a patch of ice upon landing. Not stopping to brush off the mud, he sprang up and resumed the chase. Soon the small amount of visible terrain began to look familiar, and he felt the flame of anger kindled within him as he realized who the mysterious assailants must be.

His suspicions were confirmed when he arrived at a familiar fallen tree and Noonahootin coasted down on to a branch to inform him that they had disappeared.

"Down the tunnel that Mister Greenfleck emerged from earlier," finished the owl.

Istvan smote the log with his fist. "The All-Mother will reserve a special punishment for those moles."

The others began to gather, following the beacon of the otter's torch. After a pregnant pause, Greenfleck spoke up.

"We're missing somebeast. With the rat taken there should be seven of us, but there are only six."

"Where's Zevka?" asked Nyika. A quick scan revealed that the marten jill was indeed absent. Istvan felt that he should have realized this sooner; the group was noticeably quieter without her around.

"I saw a struggle around the entrance to the tunnel, and heard a female scream," said Noonahootin. "I assumed first that it was Miss Gashrock, but the voice sounded more like Miss Blackbriar's. She must have arrived at the tunnel before Corporal Istvan, and the moles overpowered her."

Upon hearing this, Vanessa leapt forward and would have gone straight down into the tunnel if the owl had swooped down and landed in front of her. "Hold, Guardsbeast. We have already lost one beast today because she acted rashly and ran forward alone; I do not wish to lose another."

As the otter jill threw up her paws and let loose an insubordinate barrage of Highland-tinted blasphemies, Poko spoke the question on everybeasts' mind, "So what are we gonna do?"

"What do you think?" replied Istvan before Noonahootin could open his beak. "I'm going down there to get them back, and any willing beast is welcome to join me. With your permission, Captain."

The owl nodded. "Of course, Corporal. The Yew Guard never leaves a beast behind, civilian or not, and I do not intend to start now."

"I've heard you and Zevka prattling on arguing since this awful journey began. Why are you so eager to save her? Do you just want to be the one to carve her up?"

The tattooed otter rounded on Greenfleck, treating him to the most terrifying glare he could muster. The toad seemed unimpressed. "My opinions of her morality and her rather... hedonistic and inconsistent beliefs are not relevant here. An unconsecrated death at the paws of blasphemous savages is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy."

"Noble of you. I suppose I'll come along; I'm the only one of you lot who has actually dealt with these moles before, and I have not yet made them pay for the loss of my cart and rats." The toad delivered this statement without any indication of fear, and began fashioning a proper torch out of the surrounding vegetation as the others continued to speak.

To everybeast's surprise, Nyika stepped forward next. "I'll go. It smells like death down there..."

Apparently, for her that qualified as a sufficient reason. But while her spirit was willing, the otter was less sure about her flesh. "You're in no condition to be crawling through tunnels with your arm still in a sling. I don't want you to become a liability down there and return to the Mother before your appointed time."

The wildcat walked up to Istvan and touched him on his recently bandaged arm, staring into the otter's face. "You've seen Death, but have you ever traveled with him?"

"I would rather that I be traveling with him than you. Stay behind, Nyika. The Mother will protect me if it his her will."

She shook a claw under his muzzle. "You do not understand the forces you speak of so easily, Istvan. Death is my companion, and I do not fear him."

The otter was not willing to embark on a debate that would be both unproductive and unsettling, and offered no further argument, but took the opportunity to reflect that being in possession of a great gift of the Mother did not guarantee one's mental stability. He gave a brief prayer of thanks that his many blessings did not come with the caveat of insanity, no matter what Zevka and Vanessa said.

Speaking of the group's other otter, it was her turn to put in her voice. Which she did, quite emphatically. "Damn it, Ah dinnae come this far tae be showed up by this tattooed lunatic. I'm goin' too, but Inkface better walk in front a' me."

Poko appeared about to volunteer as well, so Istvan held up his paw to forestall her. "I am sorry, but you will have to remain here. I will not expose the youngest beast in our group to possible harm. In any case, I do not wish to leave Captain Noonahootin up here alone."

"Cap'n Hoot-n-tootin' can take damn well take care of himself!" The ferret stiffened. "I'm not a kit anymore than Nyika is! Why can't I go? Zevka an' Gashy're both my friends and I wanna help!"

"Believe me, I would rather that Nyika stay behind. But her gift from the Mother may prove useful down there, and far be it from me to dictate orders to one so blessed."

"So all I've got to do to make you stop pushin' me around is say I've got special powers?" Poko glared at him. The otter knew that her blasphemy was borne of anger and not disrespect, but it was blasphemy nonetheless. And after she had so willingly participated in the sacrifice. Disappointing.

"Enough!" replied Istvan. "I will not negotiate with one so young. Your courage is admirable, but you have much to learn, starting with obedience. Nyika is not only much older than you, but she is also far more experienced. Please cease this pointless debating; you are only delaying the rescue of those you call 'friends.'"

At that the ferretmaid clamped her snout, but her expression revealed that she was far from satisfied. So be it. Her disappointment was preferable to the loss of an innocent life, even if it did mean that she would likely be less receptive to his teachings in the future. Not that Istvan wasn't so used to beasts ignoring him that the thought troubled him.

The tattooed otter led his motley crew over to the entrance to the hole. It was not a large opening; the otters in the party would be forced to stoop if they wished to remain standing. Istvan lit Greenfleck's new torch from his own crude one before the flames began to threaten his fur, then tossed the stick into the snow.

"Everybeast," he said as they all peered down the tunnel, "I shall ask the Mother to bless this endeavor, as is befitting of her position as the sole and supreme dispenser of grace. As you are all aware, this is a dangerous undertaking and it is possible not all of us will return. But know that your death is for the sake and redemption of another beast, a most holy sacrifice second only to-"

"Ach, get on with it!" growled Vanessa.

Istvan complied, and drew his knife. He contemplated offering his blood for the protection of his party, but thought the better of it. He needed to keep his wits about him down there, and in any case the blood of many blasphemers would be spilled soon enough.

The tattooed otter bent down and half-walked, half-crawled in to the tunnel, followed by Greenfleck, Nyika, and finally Vanessa. The most loyal priest of the Mother, a toad of no insignificant intelligence, the All-Mother's miraculous gift to the living world, and the daughter of the Yew Guard's greatest officer, all being risked for the sake of a rat seamstress and a loudmouthed marten.

Slowly, all but imperceptibly, Istvan was beginning to think of returning their lifeblood to the All-Mother as a future event, not an imminent one. Most surprisingly, the temptation to bury his knife in Zevka's throat upon their reunion was almost entirely absent from his thoughts.

Almost, but not quite.


	32. Winging It

**32. Winging It**

_By: Poko_

They had left her. They had left her all alone with the curmudgeony old owl. Now he was trying to order her around as if she were some kind of mini masked soldier.

"Unless of course, you're unable," He finished with a note of uncertainty. Poko had not been listening.

"What?" Poko glanced up briefly from where she sat on the fallen pine. She had been in the middle of re-tying her foot wrapping which had become rather loose. She kept it bound tight so the toe would not get snagged, but it still hurt to put all of her weight on it. She sucked in a breath of air, wincing as she pulled the wrapping tight again.

"Hrrr-hum!" He cleared his throat with some annoyance. "I _asked_ if you are capable of climbing trees, Miss Poko."

The moonlight was dim. Poko could only just make out his massive shadow. She considered her sore foot. "Maybe. Why?"

"The ground is not safe and we can see much better from high up."

Poko raised a brow at him, knowing he could see her more clearly than she could see him. "I'm in a tree now. This one wasn't so safe…"

Noonahootin made another huffing sound, but Poko could not make out his face. "I do not believe the moles will know which tree we are in," replied the owl. "We would be far enough from the soil."

The ferret looked a little apprehensive. "Just how far from the soil we talkin'?"

The dark silhouette of a wing gestured toward a huge tree – the largest one whose top touched the edge of the moon. "I would prefer not to leave you on your own, in the darkness. If you are up there with me, you should be safe. I can see anything that approaches from any direction, and it will be easier to spot our friends if they come out of a different tunnel."

Poko chewed her lip. She did not like either of her choices, but the tree did appear safer than the pitch blackness of the forest around her. She wished the others had left a torch at least. "Okay, but it might take me some time." She hopped down, favoring her right foot and walked with a slight limp toward the towering pine. She flexed her paws, pricking the pads of her palms with her claws to test their sharpness. Satisfied, she reached up and sunk both sets of claws into the bark, splaying them wide. She stepped up with the claws of her right foot and found purchase. Carefully the ferret dug the two larger claws of her left foot into the tree. It was not too bad. She could do this.

Bit by bit the ferretmaid worked her way up, tossing her head to push back the hood of the hedgehog costume. Risk's hat kept her head plenty warm without it. Its blue tassels swung back and forth around her cheeks as she progressed. Her claws scrabbled quickly once she got into a swinging rhythm, and after a short period of time she met Noonahootin, waiting near the top.

"That was some speedy climbing with your lame foot. Quite impressive for a non-squirrel."

Poko grinned and plopped down, legs dangling on either side the chosen branch. She sat panting a moment before the chilling wind reached her and made her curl up with her back against the trunk. She drew her costume close and sniffed. "Whaddaya see?"

"Many things." The owl answered ominously.

"Moles?" The young ferret peered into the darkness, squinting, but could not make out anything but the tops of trees highlighted by pale moonlight.

"No, Miss Poko, no moles, and I'm sorry, there is no sign of the others as of yet." His head continued to turn this way and that, actively seeking any signs of movement. It made Poko feel oddly at peace, knowing he was so attentive.

"Did you see…I mean…do ya think Zevka and Gashy're gonna be alright?" Poko knew there was no way the owl could predict the future, but she had always heard owls were insightful. Perhaps he could make an accurate prediction.

Noonahootin looked down at the ball of spikes curled at the base of the branch with wetly shining eyes. "I have the highest confidence in my guardsbeasts. They have been well-trained for all types of situations and battles. If anybeast can bring our friends out alive, it is them." His tone was kind and fatherly, and Poko relaxed despite the eerie reflective gleam of his long, black talons. "Did I ever tell you about my son Persecutes?"

"Uh…no?" The owl had actually spoken very little to the ferret aside from scolding remarks and Poko was not sure where this was going.

"Never has there been a greater warrior in all the world! Strong, strapping lad! He grew even larger than his mother! Died valiantly in battle. My eldest daughter, Venia, she too was also a magnificient warrior! Great fighter! Made her father proud!" Noonahootin nattered on happily as his head continued to turn and search the darkness around them, reminding Poko of a doll she once had whose head twisted off.

"My Cleite, on the other claw, became a scholar of all things!" Noonahootin turned his wide-eyed gaze on the ferret earnestly, "Mind you, I am educated myself, naturally, but at the time I was so disappointed in him. My family has been warriors since the dawn of our line! All he wanted to do was cram his beak into book after book without ever looking up! He'd travel far, as far away from me as he could get once he got old enough."

"I can understand why…" Poko muttered too low for the captain to actually hear.

"Wound up at Redwall Abbey, of all places. Well, _blah blah blah_, I'll admit, but after his mother passed, he came home and _blah blah_, we reconciled. A father can only _blah blah blah_ so long." Poko's eyes glazed over, but Noonahootin did not seem to notice. He had a truly captive audience. "I realized I had been comparing Cleite to Prosecutes _blah blah blah_. Cleite's mother was a wanderer in her younger years, so _blah blah and blah_."

Poko rubbed her eyes tiredly, deaf to his ceaseless prattle. At last he paused long enough for her to break in with an urgent question. "Is it true that if you yawn wide enough, that you can dislocate your own jaw?" At the very idea she yawned so wide her face seemed to vanish entirely. She felt at her cheeks with some alarm.

Noonahootin sighed, recognizing at last her complete distraction. He yawned himself then gazed out at the horizon which had lightened considerably. Had it really been that late in the night when they awoke? Poko seemed to notice too.

"Hey, I can see better!" She got up and came to stand beside the great bird, "Is it morning already?" They both watched as the sky grew steadily brighter at the Eastern edge. It was a beautiful view stretching out before them with pink, purple and light blue colors, speckled with bright white pinpricks of stars. Unfortunately the stars were not the only white things in the sky.

"Hoo! Hoot-HOOT!" Noonahootin cried out in alarm. "It's the harfang – I can see her – and she's coming right at us!"

"Oh scat!" Poko quailed, "Whadowedo?" She clamped a fistful of feathers in both paws.

Noonahootin arched his wings, causing the ferret to duck and release her grip.

"You must conceal yourself! Run, now!" He made a shooing gesture. "I will lure her away! You must find cover!"

"But what then?" Poko whined, seeing a rather large flaw in this plan.

"Once I lose her, I shall come back for you!"

"But what if you don't?"

"I will keep you safe, even if I must spend my last breath doing so!" The old owl puffed out his chest resolutely, honored to go down fighting. Poko was not so keen on the idea.

"Wait a second – there's got to be a better way! Isn't there something I can do to help?"

"She draws near; I cannot allow her to see you! Go!" The brave Captain tested his wings with a wince of pain.

Poko's mind raced. How could she, a ferret barely fourteen seasons old help fight an owl five times her size? None of the fighting moves Vanessa and Zevka had taught her would do her any good here! The white dot was becoming distinctly winged as the snowy owl approached. It was as if she knew exactly where they were. Poko danced back and forth on her feet with anxiety. She felt a sudden and intense urge to pee. There was Zevka's knife, sheathed at her side, but what good would that do her when her opponent flew through the air with eight curved daggers of her own? She could throw it at the white owl, but Poko had no confidence in her aim, and would hate to lose her only means of defense.

_"Think, Poko, think! You've seen birds brought down before!"_ She clenched and unclenched her teeth. She had seen a fox capture a pheasant with a net once. That silk fabric back at the camp would have been perfect…if it wasn't back at the camp.

Poko felt her clothes, her vest, and the costume, emptying the many pockets: Jerky, pine nettles, candy, a cork, a piece of charcoal, her pipe kit, and a tiny pouch of tobacco. Useless! All useless! Noonahootin clucked his beak once at her fruitless search and turned to face the oncoming threat. Poko crouched near the trunk of the tree, willing the captain not to fly off to his doom just yet.

"Wait - wait - I..." She snatched Risk's knit cap from her head and looked at it goggle-eyed. "I've got it!" She pointed a finger meaningfully at the hat, a grin born of sheer terror and excitement splitting her features.

Noonahootin was unconvinced. "Enough nonsense. I must face her now, before it is too late. Do not draw attention to yourself!" He ducked down, ready to take off.

"No wait!" Poko pleaded. She gestured wildly at an adjacent pine, explaining a half-baked idea to the owl in a high-pitched babble, but the captain took off, having reached the end of his patience with the ferret child.

"I'll make the call of the thrush when I have it ready!" she yelled after him desperately.

Clearly Noonahootin had had no intention of listening to whatever cockeyed plan might have formed in the ferret's young and inexperienced mind. Poko herself was unsure whether she could pull it off in time, yet it was all she could think to do in the moment. She began pulling the hat apart with a fervor born of desperation. The hat began to unravel and Poko felt herself choke up, realizing she could be destroying the one thing her friend had left for her.

"You always helped me out before, Cookie. I hope your hat can do the same." She looped the loosened yarn in her hand. "Come on, come on…" The shrill shriek of the harfang caused her to convulse with a sudden shudder. She heard the captain answer with his own blood-curdling cry and renewed her efforts. The hat came completely apart and she grabbed the two loose ends tight in one paw while she snapped part of a dead branch off the trunk of the tree with the other. Finding she needed both paws, she seized the looping circle of kinked up yarn in her mouth and started tying one end as well as she could to the broken branch. The other end, she tied around the branch on which she stood, paws trembling violently.

Once she secured both ends, she transferred the loop from her mouth to her paws and let out a length so that the dead branch dangled. She took a deep breath and pursed her lips, beginning to twirl the piece of branch in a quick circle. At the sound of another painful shriek she let the branch fly. It struck the other tree's limbs, but then fell through the springy smaller branches. Poko cussed and began reeling it back in. The awful struggle between the two owls was audible and the young ferret felt warm tears begin to run down her cheeks. Her arms burned as she finally recovered the branch again.

Once more she planted her feet and pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring as the broken branch circled. She aimed and threw with all the momentum she could muster. The broken piece of branch fell across a thicker branch on the far tree and looped around twice before it stopped. A gasp of joy escaped her and she pulled tentatively on the yarn. The broken branch came alive and snagged sharply in the crook of the larger branch. Poko pulled it tight, trussing it up snuggly on her end.

It was ready.

The ferretmaid cupped her paws to her mouth and twittered the sweet call of the thrush she had memorized. Her father was no longer there to answer, but soon enough a great brown blur of feathers did. Captain Noonahootin of the Yew guard had recognized her plan at last. He dove and faltered just past the tight string, making himself an irresistible target for the snowy owl that was hot on his trail. With a violent twang and a surprised screech the white owl collided with the colorful blue yarn, ripping a swath of feathers from her chest to her neck as she was jerked into a violent backwards somersault. Noonahootin rounded on her as she fell, stunned, through the air. He raked her deeply with his talons and the harfang screeched, coming to life again and struggling to right herself and escape. The captain was relentless, but the snowy owl managed to break away at last and make a hasty retreat.

They could not have hoped for a better outcome, and yet the owl captain faltered and spiraled down to the forest floor.

"Mister Noonahootin!" Poko cried out in alarm as he rapidly descended, barely slowing his fall. The ferret sprinted for the trunk of the tree and slid down to the bottom as rapidly as she was able without falling herself. The ferret tore across the snow over to the heaving body. "Mister Noonahootin, are you okay?!" She began to cry when she saw blood on his feathers. He lay on his back, wings splayed across the snow as feathers floated slowly down around them like the snow.

Noonahootin's sharp little beak panted openly and his eyes rolled. His blue poncho was ripped and scored in multiple places and his talons opened and closed spastically. Poko feared the worst. She shook him.

"Captain! Captain!" If she had been faster – if she hadn't missed that first throw –

"Yes, Miss Poko…I am…I am simply…exhausted," the owl finally managed to answer. The young ferret threw herself on him in a hug. "Oh ho ho!" he chuckled, then sighed a cooing "Hoot hoot."

"I thought you were gonna die!" Poko rubbed the tears from her face, still looking worried.

"No not today, though I am sure tomorrow morning I might wish it were so!"

"You saved my life…" Poko croaked in a small voice.

"It has been an honor to fight alongside you, Miss Poko."

Above them something caught her eye and Poko grinned as a long piece of blue thread floated down into her outstretched paw.

"Hey…my hat came back!"


	33. Notes From Underground

**33. Notes From Underground**

_By: Gashrock_

Dirt. Everything was dirt. Walls of dirt, floors of dirt, ceiling of dirt. Even Gashrock had to admire the resourcefulness of their captors, for rather impressively demonstrating how many things could be made of dirt.

Then again, it wasn't like there was much in the cell to keep them occupied. She and Blackbriar were loosely bound, across from the door—a molemaid had patted them down and confiscated her dagger and Blackbriar's saber. Another molemaid had passed by, handing the first what seemed to be a piece of paper. She held it close to her side, squinting heavily through the dim torchlight in the tunnels.

"What I'd give for somethin' to read," Blackbriar muttered.

"What do moles even read? It's all hoo-urr this and oi-gum that, innit."

"They've abducted us! Don't underestimate them."

"Right, then," said Gashrock.

She glanced at the moles' robes, which had the singular distinction of not being made of dirt. That cut of the neck, those long hems...the moles she'd seen in Yew wore more neatly trimmed garments, perhaps copying the military style.

"I reckon that's the Carrigul cut."

"The what now?"

"The style—that's the sort of thing they wear, up in Carrigul. Only I didn't igg-zactly think it were a safe place for moles, last time I went. Somethin' ain't right about those."

"Or maybe you're grasping at straws."

"Ooh, that'd be brilliant. Somethin' proper to drink, that'd be."

There were advantages to being rudely carried off by a horde of underground nuisances. Nobeast was tempted to eat her. She didn't have to put any weight on her leg, if she didn't want. And being so thoughtfully restrained, there was absolutely no way anybeast would want her to dance.

You just had to adapt, was all. Make the best of it.

"You sons of skilly, you daughters of duff,  
If you reckon that yer up to snuff  
Then row, mateys, row!  
For there's many a ship below  
Full of rubbish and wrecks of beasts like you  
Who slumbered and shrugged and stranded their crew  
So row, me hearties, row!"

"Do you mind?" Blackbriar asked.

"Sorry," said Gashrock. What had she been thinking? That wasn't at all the way to keep up one's spirits. Hardly suitable.

Proper ballad meter, _that_ was more like it.

"My mum she were a searat  
My dad a searat's spouse  
The boat it were my school and  
My vee-hick-ul and house.

The beck and gill are runnin' free  
The rain is silin' down  
The foss is full of watter deep  
Who'd bother with a town?

So if you're up for sailin', mates,  
I'll nevermore need land  
The mighty skip is waitin', mates,  
Let's push off from the strand!"

Blackbriar was not looking at her, preferring instead to try and bite at her bonds. Maybe she just had something against corsairs.

In which case, there'd be nothing to rouse her spirits like hearing about corsairs being defeated!

"Right," Gashrock began. "It don't all scan great, yet. On account of I'm—" She broke off. "Piecin' it together."

Risk had left her a perfectly accurate narrative as things stood. Rather epic, all told. But that didn't make it a _ballad_. No, any song worth its salt had a place, and had a form that fit it. Oh, there were somebeasts who just didn't care. "Go on, just make somethin' up, worryin' about rhymin' and all that might've been good back in the day, but this ain't—this ain't the _day_ anymore." Whereupon Gashrock would point out, irritably, that it was too the day, the sun was shining.

That didn't work so well underground. But it was the principle of the thing.

"So they'd defend New Marshank, up  
Against the pirate tide  
Eight hundred beasts were slain that day  
But he was still alive!

The horde trekked south, so they could scout  
Out Salamandastron.  
The abbey'd brought no luck, but could  
The mountain be as strong?

For many a hare was fightin' there  
And soon the scouts grew few—  
'I'll even this old field!' he bragged.  
The lord's son—"

"Enough with the singing!" yelled Blackbriar.

"He then slew?" Gashrock finished in a monotone.

Blackbriar huffed, looking like she'd dearly love to pace to the opposite extremes, were it not for the fact that the opposite was too close for comfort and the incidental fact of being tied up.

Gashrock tried to continue the song in her head. The hares were sent a-packing. She'd never come up with the rest of the stanza. Probably something about snacking. Hares loved to eat. Didn't they? Or were those rabbits?

Probably hares. Rabbits were rubbish fighters, she'd heard. Like silly fieldmice. Or moles. Moles that just happened to have the ability to chuck you in a prison made of the earth itself, with your only friend a jumped-up pine marten who tried to boss you around and—her pretensions aside—didn't have real taste in music.

"I'm sorry," said Blackbriar.

Gashrock turned, incredulous—had she imagined it, through the shoals of self-pity? She didn't exactly want to ask for clarification, in case Blackbriar snapped at her.

But she went on. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. That helps neither of us."

"Thanks," said Gashrock. "I'll be quiet. Save my mouth, for eatin' tasty rope."

Blackbriar nodded. She'd taken a break from the attempt to chew through the bonds, and her paws—somewhat longer and more loose than Gashrock's—were at least able to reach for a locket that she dug out from under her robe and opened up, glancing inside for a moment. Finally, she asked, "How did you get here?"

"Here? Well, there were these moles, you see, and—"

"Before that. With the Dewhurst players, and all. Where are you from?"

"Oh, well then. You see, my mum, she were a searat, and my dad—"

"I'd gathered, thanks."

Gashrock hesitated. "It was the nav-ee-gator on our ship, really. He liked to learn old shanties, from woodlanders even. To try and figure out, if they knew shortcuts we didn't. Or, if a bundle of old nonsense was really a code, to help fu-zhit-ive slaves escapin'. Anyhow, I learned from him, helped him read when his eyes were dimmin'. After he died, I reckoned I'd try my luck on land a season or two, see if I could make a go of it. He never—really thought it was proper work. Said only fools and mousebabes could sit around talkin' nonsense all day and expect to earn an honest livin', and Mum and Dad didn't know any better, they'd never been much for big towns. So I made sure to learn to sew, a proper trade—it beat climbin' masts. Fell in with Dewhurst one day, and that was that."

Blackbriar nodded, the locket bobbing back and forth as her neck moved slightly. "So if you could be in any play you wanted, whichever role, who'd you pick?"

Several thoughts quickly flashed through Gashrock's mind, but there could be only one answer. "Franceska Zephyrs," she blushed.

"That's a good choice."

She nodded. "It's such a great story—everybeast loves it, even if they don't quite tell it right. I met a woodlander who swore it was really about a plucky young mousegel who defeats corsairs, and there's a vole who was talkin' rubbish—said all the con-few-zhin meant nobeast could really tell good from bad, green from red, east from west. But the proper play of it...that'd be the thing. _Windsbane_! Nothin' like it."

"Have you ever seen it performed?"

"Only the mousegel version. Which is silly, but it's fun, I suppose."

"It must be a lot of work, to memorize all the different versions, keep them straight..."

"You learn quick. And if you forget something, you make up owt, just to keep it goin'. That's how you learn."

"Can you still recite the first plays you learned?"

"At first it wasn't even plays. _Only_ games. Teachin' you to think fast."

"Games? Your searats may have been onto something, that doesn't sound like very hard work."

Gashrock laughed. "It ain't. I mean, it's hard, but it's fun. I'd show you, iffen we could move our paws some more. Or if there were more beasts..."

"I hardly think we _want_ more beasts tied down here?"

_I hardly think there's a "we" to be going on about._ "I can think of a couple beasts who might find it benn-y-fishul."

"Most of them are friendly enough! Besides, any port in a storm, as you searats say."

"I suppose. Wait a tick, iffen you wanted to play games—there's always Worst in the World." Blackbriar looked doubtful. "No singin'! Promise."

"How do you play?"

"Better with more of us, but somebeast calls out a—a job, or owt that a beast can do. Then everyone calls out how you'd do that job, iffen you were the worst in the world."

"So—if I said—the worst warlord in the world—then I'd say, 'try and conquer an abbey nobeast has ever conquered'?"

"Aye, that's it! The worst warlord in the world...thinks it's so nice to make a prison cell out of dirt, he makes all his weapons out of it too."

"Shines his sword with clean cloths and forgets to make the army keep up hygiene."

"Injures hisself shavin' with a great old sword."

"Pays a soothsayer to make up encouraging mumbo-jumbo."

"Pays a soothsayer to make up _dis_couragin' rubbish with his enemies' address."

"_Forgets_ his enemies' address and gives 'em her own!"

"And then cancels the attack once she hears it!"

"That's a good'un. All right, you tell me about the worst navigator in the world."

"Oh, I'm settin' my course by the light of the northern—gi' over, you ruddy fowl, and put out your cigar!"

"Turn left at the dead tree—here's a roll of parchment, that's a dead tree, let's turn left."

"I'm sailin' west into the sunrise. What d'you mean sun rises in the east? When _I_ wake up it's out west!"

"It says downriver, mates, so down below the river we go!"

"I tried to sneak in with the woodlanders, but they caught me, on account of I was wearin' my spy-glass."

"I ain't got no spyglass—it was supposed to make things bigger, but the worst warlord in the world stole it for examinin' his sword."

Gashrock snorted. "Worst bartender in the world."

"Alcohol? I don't serve alcohol, my mother would never approve."

"My servers ain't gettin' paid owt by me. You keeps the extra, iffen your customers pay too much on account of they're too sloshed to count."

"Every season has its own name, except for fall, which is split up between not October, and October, when you drink ale."

"No, matey, you can only have this much. On account of, iffen I keep the bottles full only up this far, I can play melodies by toastin' em together."

"There's no poison in this, I guarantee I've tested it and it's all come out clean."

"Well, there is poison in this, but I forgets to make my cly-in-tell pay in advance."

"Worst cook in the world!"

"Tonight we're feastin' on tasty ropes, mates." Gashrock nodded over at Blackbriar's bite marks.

"They said we should roast the warlord, for a lark. Well I roasted him, now I'm just waiting for the lark."

"Skilly and duff? I thought you said kill thee and stuff."

"The healer gave this powder to me for boils. I put it in, but it's not boiling any faster."

"They said to throw a feast. So I did. Dunno whereabouts it landed."

"Warlord says my stew is dull as dishwater. I served him some proper dishwater, so he can make a comparison."

"I don't even know how to...ah, confound it all. I miss Cookie."

"I miss proper—oh. Risk."

"Aye. I—aye."

"I can imagine," said Blackbriar. "If you don't mind talking about it, how did Risk first fall in with the Players? And when did you find out who he was?"

"Couple seasons back. Then he told me one night when we were sloshed. I dunno if he meant it, see. Didn't believe him, till it kept happenin'. The second or third time I knew not to get into a drinkin' contest with him. So by then I was payin' more attention, like."

Blackbriar sighed. "I wish I could have known him better—_no_! Not like that!" She smirked. Gashrock glowered more deeply. "I just mean that he seems like a beast who had a lot of stories to tell."

"Oh, he was. Dunno what yer askin' about my mum and dad for, he was the real adventurer."

"Not to mention that he would have been a good sort of beast to rescue us...Speaking of which, we need to figure out some way to get out of here. I like to think that Nessa wouldn't leave us down here...I mean, Captain Noonahootin wouldn't _really_ just leave us to.." Blackbriar's face fell as her voice trailed off.

"He wouldn't leave _me_," said Gashrock, "on account of I'm a waste of dinner."

"Except...maybe he would. If Noonahootin and Istvan have written us off, Nessa has to listen. Goragula doesn't care. Nyika and Poko can't just come barging in here on their own..." Blackbriar drew in a breath, trying to keep her expression blank. She opened her mouth once, then closed it, then opened it again. "Point is, we can't just wait around."

Gashrock turned, studying her, and her eyes lit on the locket that the marten had managed to extricate. "You've got a nice long reach."

"Thanks. But I'm still tied up."

"Aye. And even if you bit yourself loose, I don't fancy tryin' to outdelve moles."

"Me neither. But we can't get out of here, unless you can pick locks..."

Gashrock hesitated. "Okay. Zevka?"

"Yes?"

"Try and reach for my hem."

"What?"

"Over there, right above the bottom of my robe. Give it a ruddy old tug, why don't you. Or can you not reach?"

"I think I can, just about. But—"

"This ain't no time for modesty. Iffen it tears, I'll fix it once we're free. Go on."

She braced herself as Zevka reached out and pulled. Across her body, Gashrock could feel the robe pull taut against her, but they did not rip.

"There you are! Careful now, don't cut yourself."

Eyes wide, Zevka let go, slackening back towards her own restraints. But not before, through the darkness of the cell, Gashrock noticed a glint of light flash between them.

It was the point of a needle.


	34. Hittin' on all Sixes

**34. Hittin' on all Sixes**

_By: Vanessa_

"Yowch! Noo whose_ brilliant_ idea was et tae brang along a torch wot cannae e'en stay lit fer half an hour?"

Nessa tripped on a rock for the umpteenth time as the rescue party shambled along deeper into the bowels of the mole fortress. It was pitch dark; Greenfleck's makeshift torch, constructed of haste and pine needles, had died not one hundred paces past the opening of the tunnel.

"Keep your voice down, Guardsbeast. If we want to have any chance at finding your... friend alive, we must keep the advantage of surprise."

This statement from her commander did not improve Nessa's mood. The familiar sting from the use of her lower rank title, the arrogant tone of the order, and most of all, the fact that she knew Istvan was right all fed the burning ball of resentment in the pit of her stomach. A heated retort concerning Istvan's responsibility as their commander to provide for adequate light was just on the tip of the ottermaid's lips but she gulped it down. Really, she was no better than any of the creatures around her. Worse, in fact. She'd drunk herself senseless like any filthy, common tavern slut, endangered the survival of everyone around her, and then been forced to watch aghast as her actions sparked off quarrels and feuds between the only friends she had left in her life.

Another sharp rock sliced the side of her footpaw. Nessa stumbled- and immediately jumped back from the cold, moist body she'd bumped hard into.

"Sorry!"

Silence.

Shivering, the ottermaid reflected that perhaps she'd have been better off not slighting the toad's handiwork. Granted, she didn't doubt she could take on the slimy creature in a fair fight any day but there was something about Greenfleck that woke a wary, primal instinct in her, something that spoke of poison and knives in the dark. Apparently, Nyika had the same feeling- she could hear the young wildcat's soft pawsteps, very carefully keeping Nessa's body between her and the toad as they walked blindly onwards.

Mindful of keeping a low tone, the young Guard tried lightening the atmosphere a bit.

"Sae, we've had a road collapsed on us, a braw flyin' feathermatress tryin' tae make us intae dinner, an' a bunch o' wee savages oot fer our blood. After survivin' all that, an undergroond rescue mission shouldnae be tae difficult, eh mates?"

"It's the curse."

"A curse, Miss Nyika?"

"Aye, it's been following us since the road collapse."

_Weel, that turned oot nicely._ Nessa's eyes rolled skyward in exasperation. Trust Nyika to start talking of curses when they were lost inside a seemingly never-ending tunnel inhabited by hostile beasts.

"An' just wot is this curse, iffen ye dinnae mind me askin'?"

"Didn't Zevka tell you? We found an expedition frozen in the snow past the hilltop, to the west of the lake. They had dressed for war. Zevka thinks they've been there a while, citing a lost expedition a year past, but I don't think it was them. Their bodies were still fresh. Spring and Summer would have brought decay."

"Hmph. Doesnae tell me anythin', lass. These tunnelin' scoundrels almost did us ain- makes sense not everyone was so lucky, ye ken?"

Nyika paused for a moment.

"No. Their wounds were too precise- killing blows. They walked into an ambush."

Once again, silence envelopped the company as they each ruminated this new information.

A nagging memory tugged at Nessa's mind, frustratingly just out of reach, a vague suspicious feeling that she should know about what Nyika was describing. Closing her eyes to concentrate didn't help much either- she couldn't see her paw in front of her face as it was. Her brows scrunching together the ottermaid tried to force the memory to the surface. It was important, she was certain of it. Something to do with her father... the memories were too painful, fogged by numerous visits to the taverns and pushed back to a remote corner of herself that she rarely brought to light. And now when she needed them, they obstinately refused to reveal themselves. Before she'd realized it, Nessa's fist had shot out reflexively to punch the packed dirt on her right in frustration.

It was the wrong move.

A slight sprinkling of soil on her neck was the only warning she got before the earth wall she was leaning on bellied inwards, throwing her several yards away. Nessa had time only for one frantic shout before chaos filled the black passageway.

"Watch oot maaaates!"

It felt like a blind re-enactment of when the ground had first shifted under the ottermaid's feet in the slide that had marked the beginning of their troubles, a nightmarish feeling of deja-vu. Amidst the groaning and cracking of the earth, rocks tumbled from the low ceiling and a choking cloud of dust rose up to fill Nessa's eyes and throat. Coughing, the ottermaid scrambled wildly on all fours, trying to find her companions, and smacked straight into somebeast's stomach, bringing them both down on the ground. A loose shower of earth fell and then the blackness around them resumed its peaceful silence.

"Istvan?"

"Would you kindly remove your rudder from my stomach?"

"Wot? Oh aye. Nyika? Greenfleck?"

There was no answer, not even any faint sound of breathing or rustle of fur. A sudden panic gripped Nessa. What had she done?

"Nyikaaaa!"

Heedless of their dangerous situation, the ottermaid threw herself towards the right where the tunnel split in twain... and slammed into a solid wall of rock and dirt. The area where Nyika and the toad had been standing had completely caved in. In numb disbelief, Nessa slid slowly down the rubble.

"Vanessa! What has happened, Vanessa?"

"T... they're gone, Istvan! The ceilin' caved ain!"

"What! Nyika's gone?"

Pressed against the rough dirt, Nessa clenched her paws tight, unable to control the burning rush of emotions pushing a hard lump of guilt and anger up her throat. Just then, against her ear, she heard the faint echo of a voice.

"Nessa?"

"Nyika! Oh thank goodness yer alive!"

The wildcat seer's voice barely made itself heard across the barrier that now separated the four beasts.

"We're alright, we're on the other side, the tunnel splits off here. Greenfleck is with me."

Nessa detected a distinct note of uneasiness in her tone and started digging furiously only to be held back by Istvan's paw grabbing her arm.

"What...!"

"Hold, Guardsbeast. You could start another cave-in. Nyika, can you hear me?"

"Aye."

"We'll try to dig our way through slowly. It'll take time but just stay where you are."

"Please hurry!"

The note of agitation in her voice had increased and Nessa's paws trembled as it suddenly dawned on her why the wildcat was so nervous. But before she could do anything to reassure the wildcat, her ears pricked up in alarm. Grunts and rough clanking noises were echoing from the mouth of the tunnel behind them.

"Ach! Istvan, we got company."

The Corporal sounded positively harassed.

"Would it be too much to ask for the Mother to ameliorate some of our obstacles? Guardsbeast, we must hide, and quickly."

"But wot aboot Nyika? We cannae loose each other- if any moles show oop, Ah kin knock 'em oot."

"There's too many, Vanessa, can't you hear them? We'll have to try and find the way into that tunnel further in."

Despite sounding decidedly unsure about his last statement, Istvan headed off downwards at a fast trot. There was no time to inform their two companions of the recent developments- already the faint yellow light of torches and gravelly accent of their enemies were seeping around the corner of the tunnel.

It was grueling trying to run in pitch darkness. More often than she'd liked, Nessa found herself having to steady herself on Istvan after a stumble or, alternatively, having to catch Istvan to save him from a fall that could have dire consequences. They were approaching the deeper hub of the mole's fortress and parties of the digging beasts could often be heard either behind or on either side of them. Fortunately, along with the increase in foebeasts, came an increase in light. Occasional crude torches stuck into directly into the earth of the tunnel walls now gave flickering light to their path and made progress much easier. Easier, that is, until their winding path began to split off into five different branches.

"Ach, which way noo?"

Nessa was panting slightly- around them and behind them still echoed the sounds of the inhabitants of the underworld. Istvan did not hesitate, immediately heading into the rightmost tunnel.

"This way."

"How'd'ye know?"

The tattooed otter continued heading towards the entrance with maddening certainty.

"Vanessa, we are in a very dangerous situation in enemy territory. As a Guard and your officer, I must ask you now to follow and obey me immediately and without discussion. Our lives depend on swift and efficient action."

_What in the name o' crags...!?_ Nessa clamped her mouth shut, trying to ignore the various choice epitaphs and objections that came to mind, and hurried to catch up with Istvan. She didn't have any leeway to question Istvan now, what with her episode of drunken irresponsibility still fresh in the Captain's mind.

Following Istvan's lead silently, she trotted onwards then took a sharp left as the tunnel split in two again. One right, two splits, and three left turns later and she was starting to seriously question Istvan's judgement. True, he was constantly veering away from noises that signaled approaching moles but this mode of action was forcing the two creatures deeper and deeper into what was swiftly becoming a veritable maze.

Finally, they were forced to halt upon arriving in a large circular chamber with openings branching off all around them like spokes on a wheel.

"I believe this calls for a change of plans, Vanessa. We appear to be nearing the center of this network- probably where the moles are keeping their prisoners. In that case, I think we should focus on rescuing Zevka and Gashrock and then try to recover Nyika and the toad on our way out. At least, they are free; we shall have to hope they make good use of their wits and remain undetected until we find them. May the All-Mother protect them."

Nessa nodded once. That, at least, made sense; she could see the entrance to many of the tunnels here were flattened and packed by constant activity. And as she padded around to inspect the seven branching paths, the ottermaid even noticed some scraps of rough fabric and crumbs of un-identifiable food on the beaten floor of the third one from their entry point. And there was something else about this tunnel, a faint aroma, something she felt she knew.

"Och, Istvan, Ah think Ah kin smell Zevka's scent! An' this tunnel's been used recently! Are ye comin'?"

Istvan was at the passage two entries lower down from her.

"Hmmm? Vanessa, I found a scrap... of what appears to be Gashrock's robe. I think we'll investigate this one first, the lack of tracks rather indicates that it is used less often- a logical place to put prisoners which they probably rarely keep."

"Wot? But Istvan, Ah kin _feel_ this is the reet one... the fabric scrap musta been swept o'er..."

"Come, Guardsbeast, there isn't much time. My guess is this is the right tunnel to follow so we shall down it first."

And down Nessa was forced to follow, her every instinct protesting as she left Zevka's faint musk behind.

_Ah willnae argue with Istvan. Ah willnae argue with Istvan. Ah willnae argue with Istvan even if he is an overbearing, air-headed dolt... Ah willnae..._

"Istvan, Ah _really_ feel we shouldnae be goin' this way!"

"I do not wish to have to repeat myself, Guardsbeast. Either you follow my orders or you answer to our Captain."

Fine. She had her answer. She'd follow the crazy otter to the end of this mess, if only to be there to gloat when they ended up even more lost in some lonely cavern miles beneath the mountain. As it turned out, they were both saved the walk when when after a short distance, Istvan's tunnel simply ended in a very ordinary looking cul-de-sac.

"Weel, would ye lookit that!"

She didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

"Och, Nessa, this is the right path, Ah'm sure, jist follow mah lead, lowly Guardsbeast! Huh! Logic, mah auntie's rudder. Ye, mah bonny Corporal, just led us intae a dead end."

Istvan was apparently not listening, or trying not to listen as he examined the torch still illuminating the closed passage.

"Strange. Why would they illuminate passages that do not serve any apparent purpose?"

Nessa didn't let him finish his rumination, finally able to let out her frustration with the entire episode.

"Because they're mad, that's why! They're mad, crazy, illogical little _savages_ that attack anybeast for nae reason at all! And there ye are, moonin' aroond aboot a single blitherin' torch! Ah'm sick o' followin' ye aroond! This time, we're goin' back oop an' doon mah tunnel where Ah'll show ye who's the real tracker 'ere."

To the fuming ottermaid's slight surprise, Istvan gave his resigned assent without too much trouble and once again, the duo headed out into the endlessly dull brown passages. _Ah swear, iffen Ah stay in this stinkin' hole much longer, Ah'm goin' tae go mad!_ Once back into the large chamber, Nessa marched decidedly down her chosen way- and was brought to an astonished halt even more quickly than in Istvan's tunnel.

This passage too was a dead end.

This was impossible. Trotting around, Nessa tried to recapture the elusive marten scent that had first convinced her but it slipped around her senses, her doubtful mind now wondering whether it had all just been in her head. Maybe she_ was_ going crazy.

"Well, it appears that your hunch was incorrect as well. Perhaps excessive imbibing of alcohol has damaged your sense of smell?"

Istvan was leaning behind her, looking unbearably smug. _Tae hellgates with that thrice-blasted otter! _Perhaps in her haste to prove him wrong she'd gone down the wrong one. Without a single word, Nessa stormed back up to the main hall. By the time her officer had caught up, the ottermaid was running wildly around the numerous entries, growing more and more agitated by the minute.

"Vanessa, stop."

She stopped. However hard it was to acknowledge, she knew there was no point throwing all her irritation and helpless anger out on him. Both of them were lost and yelling her head off at him like she was longing to do was not going to accomplish anything.

"Look, Istvan, Ah... Ah'm sorry. We're goin' nowhere like this. Kin we call a truce, aye? We both do our best tae find Zevka and Gashrock an' the rest an' git oot o' this place alive an' in one piece. An'... Ah try not tae yell at ye tae much."

A heavy tattooed paw met hers as Istvan nodded.

"Very well. Now, we need to decide our next move or continue to wander in this labyrinth until we both return to the Mother in very painful and useless circumstances."

Their next move, however, was decided for them. Another platoon of the dreaded moles- the place seemed full of them- had, by some trick of the echoes, approached them undetected but could now be heard very clearly and glitters of sharpened stone were even starting to be discernible through the gloom.

As quickly and quietly as possible, they both ducked into the nearest hiding place at hand: a small hollow in the earth slightly hidden by a large stalagmite. Her heart pounding, Nessa flattened herself against the wall, watching as the gibbering crowd passed right before them, heading towards one of the tunnels they hadn't investigated yet.

And right then and there, it hit her. There _was_ a way they could find out exactly where the prisoners were located! Excitedly, she whirled on Istvan gabbling out her plan at a breakneck rate.

"Istvan, Ah got et! Iffen ye git captured, they'll take ye tae straight tae the prisoner's place, aye, aye? Then Ah kin follow ye an' break ye all oot, ye ken? 'Tis sich a bonny scheme, they'll lead us straight tae the place!"

Istvan blinked, obviously trying to make sense of the sudden flood of whispered Highland gibberish. But Nessa was in no mood for explanations. The mole party were already almost past them, a minute later and the chance would be gone. Before Istvan could say or do anything, she was practically dragging him to the entrance of their hideout in the shadowy hollow.

"Vanessa, what...?"

Bracing herself hard against the rock, Nessa brought both paws up and shoved Istvan squarely in the chest. Taken utterly by surprise, her officer stumbled out directly into the torchlight before the astonished eyes of the moles. Immediately, he was surrounded by the small, sable-furred creatures, hurr-ing and harr-ing away as they menaced him with crude but nevertheless dangerous hatchets made of sharpened stone bound to a simple wood handle.

"Harr, et be's anuther unn! Gurt h'otter. 'Ow d'ee get in 'ere?"

"Do you heathen savages understand who you are addressing? I am Istvan, most beloved priest of the All-Mother.""

The moles did not seem overly impressed.

"You'm drop dat thurr knoife, zurr h'otter. Garzo, did 'ee furrget to close 'ee turnnel erntrance agin?"

"Hurr, Oi be's gurtly zorry, zurr."

"Grab 'is knoife, Buglle. Take 'im wid 'ee utherr prizners, burr aye. Shirft eeself noaw!"

Off they went, dragging Istvan along with them, but not before the Corporal had managed to make a last, accusing eye contact with the ottermaid hidden in the shadows.

Nessa waited just until the backs of the departing beasts disappeared around the corner before she slipped off after the party. She felt a bit guilty for her recent act (not to mention she was actively trying not to think about what Istvan's report to Noonahootin would be, assuming they made it out) but still, there was no denying it felt vastly better to be working on her own. Paws clenched, she slithered along the walls, using every nook, cranny, and shadow to conceal herself. _Guid ould Sergeant Reng. Ah ne'er thought those borin' camouflage lessons coulda been sae useful._ Indeed, the need for concealment was great for in fear of losing them, Nessa kept in sight of the group and therefore on the edge of their torchlight.

The moles were a primitive looking bunch, she decided, quite unlike the industrious, well-fed crews in Yew. Emaciated and ragged, they shuffled along, dressed in torn rags and dried vegetative matter and brandishing their crude axes and stone tipped spears.

It wasn't so long before they reached one of the dead ends that had so frustrated the two Yew Guards and she had the answer to the riddle. Three moles went forward and attacked the barrier with stout digging claws, reducing it to rubble in a surprisingly short time not above five minutes. Then the entire group proceeded through the hole and left the diggers to close the entry behind them, unaware of the silent shadow crawling up towards them.

It was over in a flash. Nessa leapt forward, head-butting the first mole in the stomach, whirled, striking the next one on the head with her rudder, and floored the last beast with a single jab to the snout. They didn't make a single noise except for the dull thunk as they each hit the ground unconscious. Vaulting over the rubble, the ottermaid rushed to catch up with Istvan's captors, a sudden rush of euphoria from her successful ambush lending extra speed and agility to her paws.

Though most of the tunnels were made in packed and shored-up earth, obviously mole-work, the entire network seemed to wend it's way through natural cracks and large openings in the mountain bedrock that had slowly filled with earth and mud from the surface. This moutain rocks showed itself on many occasions as protrusions of rock or small grottoes of solid granite. If it hadn't been for those various stalactitites, stalagmites, hollows, and bell-shaped mounds, the undercover infiltrator would have immediately been noticed as the moles milled about in the narrow place. As it was, Nessa had to call upon all her natural agility to make use of what cover she had. Wedged between two large stalagmites growing on one side of the tunnel, she covertly watched the moles approach a large wooden door, open the heavy metal bar that locked it from the outside, and thrust Istvan inside.

It was only when all the moles had safely passed her and retraced their steps to the main chamber that Nessa dared to breathe. Dropping lightly to the floor, she scurried over to the door and called out softly through the woodwork, her heart dancing inside her as she heard the cynical tones of a familiar voice from inside.

"Zevka?"

"Oh Gates, Nessa, you made it!"

Nessa couldn't restrain the grin from her face.

"An' ye really thought Ah wouldnae?"

"Believe me, Guardsbeast, it is a good thing for you that you did. But do not think for one instant that this erases your transgression from my memory. You may be sure I will.."

Nessa was still grinning, far too happy to let Istvan's ominous speech dampen her spirits. She cut him off curtly.

"Save yer breath Istvan, Ah got the job done didnae Ah?"

"That remains to be seen. How are we to get out of here now?"

"Aye, an' 'ow do we get through the moles an' owt?"

"Weel, Ah kin try tae lift this bolt without tae much noise..."

Nessa paused, listening. The moles were still in the large chamber, apparently holding some kind of council.

"But Ah dunno 'ow we kin get oot without them seein' us."

She could almost see the thinking crease on the marten's brow as Zevka's voice was heard again.

"Hmmm. We're already free of our chains in here, thanks to Gashrock's needle. What we need is a distraction."

Nessa's eyes suddenly lit up.

"Ah'll do et, Zevka! Ah'll distract 'em! Listen, Ah'll lift this bar and then sneak oot an' do a guid ould ruckus..."

Even while she was talking, Nessa was already lifting the heavy bar off the bolt, not daring to open the door lest it's loud creakings attract attention. With flushed face and set jaw, the ottermaid whispered a final, "When ye hear me shout, get oot an' run!", and sped off down the passage leaving behind Zevka's last words.

"Good luck."

She emerged from the tunnel and crawled her way alongside the shadowed wall of the large council hall undetected before starting to worm her way up the rocky walls. The constant muttering of the debating moles that blocked the way not seven paces away from her droned on as she sweated and strived to find pawholds in the rugged rock. And she made it, clinging to the rocky lumps over the heads of the mole council on the opposite side from the prison tunnel. Her head felt light, empty, her body thrumming with pent up energy. This was it.

She jumped, straight into the milling crowd of moles, and hit the ground with a cloud of dust and a tremendous yell that was doubled and trebled as it echoed around the cave.

"Ahoy, ye grimy bunch o' cloddheaded eedjits!"

The shock was complete. Over a hundred bright, beady eyes suddenly swiveled around to stare at the ottermaid. It took Nessa aback for a split second, then her chest swelled with the intoxicating fact that she had everybeast's total, undiluted attention.

"Och, 'ave all ye wormbrained, sludgepawed, ninny-nosed lot gone daft, eh? What'r'ye starin' at me fer? 'Twould be a wonder yer mammies let ye keep watch o'er a wee marble, the way this place is guarded!"

En masse, the moles surged forward brandishing weapons at the impudent intruder. Laughing outright, Nessa turned, waggling her rudder impudently, and shot off further down the cavern. The realization that her plan was working gave her a fresh boost of confidence and she actually halted, calling back to her slightly slower pursuers.

"Jings, Ah'm growin' auld hangin' aboot 'ere! Git a move on, straggle-pawed, bumblin' country oafs! Hah, yer all sae scrawny ye cannae e'en run proper. That's wot coom's o' thievery an' laziness!"

The insults were working, more than working in fact. For some reason she ignored, the last jibe seemed to have hit a common nerve, enraging the moles to the point were they were even trampling some of their own kind in their haste to reach Nessa.

She was heading for the dark mouth of another tunnel now and a quick glance backwards told her that the way was now clear for the escaping prisoners. Putting on a turn of speed, the young Guard sprinted off inside the dim passage as the horde of bodies poured in behind her. The torches were getting sparser and the side passages more numerous. Much further and she suddenly realized she'd be completely lost and blocked off from her companions. Accordingly, Nessa suddenly spun around, her rudder scoring the earth as she faced the oncoming beasts.

"Haaaawaaay, buckoes, who's first?"

The four unlucky frontrunners stumbled straight into her range and Nessa didn't keep them waiting on ceremony. _Thwock! Whack! Whaaapaak!_ There was a reason why the ottermaid had a healthy reputation amidst the brawlers of Yew.

Seeing four of their number so quickly decimated brought the cave-dwellers to a momentary halt and Nessa crouched low, panting and grinning simultaneously, teeth bared as she slapped her rudder on the ground.

"Aye, aye, who's the braw one ready tae git 'is face in the dirt next, ye scairt jelly-legs? Step oop an' meet the daughter o' Ravenna Riverflash o' the Stormloch Clan! Ah was born in a battle, amidst the fire o' Cucharok! The enemy took one look at me chewin' on a halberd an' ran off yellin' mercy! Ye wanna see yer death? Weel yer lookin' at et noo!"

Not a single mole answered the fearsome challenge and Nessa yelled louder, carried away by the adrenaline filling her body. Her stand was having the desired effect of delaying the moles enough to let Zevka and the rest get as far as possible but the real reason why the moles were not rushing her soon became evident. A sharp lancing pain suddenly cut through her bragging and Nessa tasted tangy blood on her muzzle. It was streaming from the score left by one of the spears. The moles weren't stupid; drawing back, they brought their slings, spears, and throwing hatchets into play against their lone foe. Nessa backflipped, gracefully dodging the next missiles. But she couldn't keep the maneuver up forever, not with the amount of thrown weaponry increasing every second. There was only one option left- head into the maze once again and hope that fate favored her escape.

As Nessa ran, she tried to ascertain if the tunnel she'd chosen roughly headed in the direction of the main cave where her friends were but she soon had other preoccupations. She'd only been fleeing for several minutes, always aware of the growling mob behind her, when she ran slap-bang into a second group of moles that scurried out of the side entry. This time, there was no bragging or baiting: the moles were deadly serious and fought with a surprising ferocity. With a roar, Nessa bulled into the smaller beasts, punching, kicking and breaking wherever she saw an opening. The moles were armed but at such short range, their weapons were easy targets for the smashing rudder and whirling paws of the ottermaid. Besides the wild warrior blood of her mother's ancestors that was currently rushing like fire through her veins, the fact that Captain Fern had started training his daughter in the art of paw-to-paw fighting almost as soon as she could walk now proved a considerable difficulty for her enemies. But it was still one against scores and the moles clung like limpets even as the ottermaid strove to escape forward. Before long Nessa was bleeding from a second, more serious gash, on her leg and the spear bearer, taking advantage of her momentary pain, hefted his weapon for a second debilitating thrust. It never fell.

When Nessa looked up at her enemy, she saw his eyes roll up and his body slump to the ground, to be replaced by a figure she'd almost given up hope of seeing.

"Zevka!"

If Nessa had maintained a slight restraint towards actually killing the moles, Zevka had no such qualms. The marten's saber flashed like lighting as it wove a graceful and deadly pattern, seeking out vital bleeding spots with frightening accuracy. Behind her, Istvan's knife finished off the wounded, followed by Gashrock scowling fiercely, a sizable rock clenched in her paw. Faced with this unexpected onslaught, the moles dissipated and the escapers seized the chance.

"Come on, Nessa, this way!"

"Wh... how... d'ye.. find me?"

"No time now, Guardsbeast. Run!"

Nessa put her paw down, meaning to sprint off, but suddenly her vision turned yellow and fuzzy and she felt the sounds of the world fade out. A rough paw thrust about her waist was the only thing that stopped the ottermaid from suddenly fainting.

"Not the ruddy place for a nap, innit?"

"Th.. thanks.. Gashrock."

Paws pounding the earth, the four dashed off. Zevka seemed to have a rough idea of a way, and Nessa was suddenly too tired to much care where they were running. But wherever the marten was leading them, they never got there. Moles flowed out from the tunnels before them like cockroaches swarming out of a jar, cutting off their routes wherever they turned. Soon they were completely encircled in a ring of foebeasts. Nessa's vision was turning red, clouded by the blood caked over her eyes, as she leapt forward recklessly into the mob, the entire network echoing and re-echoing to the age-old Highland battle-cry.

"Coom on, mates, the more the merrier! Haaaawaaaaay the braaaaaaw!"


	35. Nyikromancer in a Daydream

**35. Nyikromancer in a Daydream**

_By: Nyika_

"Nessa? Nessa!" the wildcat cried, but there was no answer. There had been noise muffled by the dirt, sounds of a skirmish or what would soon be. Shaking, Nyika turned to Goragula.

"Can't you dig through?" she asked, her voice pitched with nervous energy.

"They've departed," was Goragula's answer. "Besides, I do not wish to rejoin them. I have something to say to you, my little Grimalkin."

Nyika felt her hackles rise. She turned to paw feebly at the dirt, her only means of protection gone. A sad sense of resignation bore down on top of the wildcat, pressing a weight against her shoulders that had her hunching in the darkness. She knew what Goragula had to say. She knew this was where her life would end. One did not just rat out the land's most infamous merchant and live to tell about it. She could already feel the knife point at the base of her neck, but no, that was just his finger, pressing hard into her flesh.

When Goragula spoke next, his tone was quiet and deadly. "What do you know of me?"

Nyika cowered, her body shrinking in the darkness. What was it that Zevka had said? _The first rule of self-defense is: It's better to escape than to fight if you don't have to._ She could run if she was quick enough, but with Goragula hovering so close to her, Nyika was sure any sudden movement would have a knife planted between her shoulder blades. She should scream. How far had they gotten from the base of the tree? Far enough that Nyika was sure her shouts would go unanswered. Had Poko and Captain Noonahootin even lingered? A silent wail grew in her throat. How did she find herself alone with the toad? Why had she offered to go in the first place? Didn't she realize just how dangerous he could be?

Her paw tightened around the hilt of Risk's blade. If she was quick enough, she could slash at him and run away. Just retrace her steps, never mind all the side alleys and paths they had wandered. Her breath quickened in her throat. It was useless. What was she even thinking?

"Kill the toad."

The voice that whispered in her ear was hoarse and raspy and sent a different kind of chill than Goragula's touch down her spine. Nyika shivered, knowing its owner was squatting next to her, and for once she welcomed the darkness. She was growing nauseous of seeing the vole's ghastly image hovering around the toad, casting her glances when he knew she was watching.

"Cat got your tongue?" Goragula said. "It seemed so loose before."

"Kill the toad!"

"Shh!" Nyika hissed. Goragula was quiet, listening.

Rising, Nyika turned towards the toad, her paw flexing as it held the dagger in a sweat slicked grip. "As infamous as your name is in this land, you have few haunts, do you know that, Mr. Goragula?"

"You think I'm Goragula?"

"Aye."

The toad barked a laugh. "Then you really are crazy. Goragula is a rat."

"No," Nyika said, finding strength, though it didn't keep the tremor from her voice. "That's what you want us to believe."

"And what leads you to this conclusion?"

"Clarence."

She could not read any change in expression in the darkness, but she was sure the toad flinched at the name.

"Clarence…"

Nyika took a step backwards, just to put a little distance between them. "He had an ailing mother and a poor crop for the season. He borrowed some money to make ends meet, to ask for some herbs and tinctures. You killed her when he became late on his payments, to remove the distraction."

She remembered the day Clarence had come to her with his life in shambles, accusing her of a bad potion. Nyika had almost believed him. She couldn't remember if it had been horehound or hemlock she added to the concoction. A simple mistake like that could kill a beast, and Nyika was not that confident in herself to rule out the possibility. She could be rather absentminded at times, not to mention impressionable when a spirit wanted to play a cruel game. But then she saw the paw wrapped in a bandage, unraveling it to reveal a missing claw. With only a few questions she had him telling her everything he had done to ensure his mother would live. That included his dealings with Goragula.

"I don't know who you're talking about," the toad said.

Nyika continued. "He killed himself a day later. I know, because I went to his house and saw. He had slit his own throat."

"And that's how you've come to this conclusion? Through my 'haunts'?"

Nyika nodded, though she could not say why. The effect was lost in the darkness. Still, it made her feel better to think that she could still move her neck and it hadn't been snapped. "Aye. They are loud and wish you dead."

"Interesting," Goragula mused, but Nyika could discern nothing else from the word.

"You don't believe me?" she asked, failing to hide her unease. If he didn't buy her tale then she had no power over him, and there would be no reason for him to keep her alive.

"Should I?"

He was moving. When once he spoke before her, now his voice echoed off to the side. Nyika's ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint his location, searching for any clue as to his whereabouts. There was a sound of dirt shifting, a slight shuffle of feet.

"To the left," the ghostly voice told her.

Nyika pivoted, and some instinctual feeling had her bringing Risk's dagger to the level of her neck. Goragula's knife chinked against hers, forcing her to step back shaking against the wall. She felt cold steel part her fur, pressing hard against her throat. So this was where she was going to die. What a fool she had been; doubly so. Once when she removed his mask, and twice when she sought to venture beneath the earth in his company. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Kill the toad!" Clarence wailed.

"I'm sorry," Nyika whispered.

The pressure stopped. Goragula had hesitated.

"Do you fear death, Grimalkin?" he asked.

As long as Nyika had lived she had known Death, walking beside him as he reaped the souls of the world. Whenever he had come across a particularly stubborn soul she would aid him, soothing their woes and leading them to the Gate set before them. It was her gift to the world to provide balance in the afterlife. The dead had no place amongst the living, despite their desires. What she said to Istvan was true. Death was her companion, though she had not chosen him as her ally.

"No," she said, but her throat was dry and nothing came out. She tried again. "No."

"You're trembling."

"I fear you."

The knife blade left her throat, but not without leaving a mark. Nyika let loose a breath of air she had not realized she was holding as her paw went to her neck. He had spared her. She felt she needed to explain herself.

"Death … is my friend. I could never fear him, not the one beast who has never abandoned me."

"You are an interesting creature. Has anybeast ever told you that?"

"All the time."

"_Kill the damn toad!_"

"Will you _shut up_!" Nyika yelled, turning her head to address the third in their company.

"I beg your pardon?" Goragula said.

The wildcat put her head in her paws. "Not you. I'm sorry. I told you they are loud, and they wish you dead. Clarence is the loudest of them all."

"I don't know this Clarence you speak of." He sounded annoyed, but still a little too quick in his denial.

Either way, Nyika waved a paw in dismissal. "It doesn't matter. He is ghastly, and I don't like looking at him. And his throat is slit so his voice is raspy and hard to listen to."

"He wants you to kill me."

"Aye."

"Will you?" There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Do you think I could if I tried?"

"No. I should tell you about the mole I skinned down here, how he begged for mercy before I granted his last wish."

_Skinned._ It was horrific. The thought had memories shifting through her mind of a butchered mole who had joined a place in Goragula's collection of haunts.

"Yes," she said. "He's been lingering, too. You're pretty cruel."

"It gets the job done. He was the one who told me his kin caused the collapse."

"Well, try to learn how to extract your information in a less gruesome manner."

She could hear his tongue flicker, a shudder passing through her as he licked the blade clean of her blood.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Nyika wasn't sure he would. So where did they stand? She had not expected the toad to spare her so easily. Were the others as merciful? She had dared not get close to Poko, only when she had been bid, and she had noticed a change in attitude from the ferret jill that she wasn't entirely sure was for the better. Her relationship with Zevka had been shaken to the core—another mistake like that and the pine marten was sure to leave her behind. And Risk … poor Risk. She wondered if things had been different, if she had left him alone, if he wouldn't have been so reckless. Another death to add to her list. Despite all she tried, Nyika was constantly reminded that she could not save all.

"Let us depart," Goragula said, shattering Nyika from her thoughts.

"Aye," she said, though she wasn't happy about it. The idea of traveling alone with the toad was not on Nyika's top list of things to do before she died, but she had been making changes and arrangements since birth. Together they resumed the search, using paws and whiskers to guide them, until the wildcat noticed a faint trace of smoke lingering in the air.

"Do you smell that?" she said.

Goragula hesitated. "Smoke," he confirmed.

"I think it's coming from up ahead."

It was their noses that guided them to the storeroom of stolen supplies where Risk had opened bottle after bottle of alcohol in his search for the most flammable he could find. The acrid stench overwhelmed Nyika's senses, causing her to wince as she rooted through clothing, food, and bottles. But what to do with them all? She didn't even know what she was looking for.

"Matches," Goragula's voice rumbled.

Between the two of them they crafted a torch, dousing the cloth in alcohol and tying it tight to a discarded bindle stick. Goragula held it aloft.

"Gather up the food and clothing," he said. "We should take them back to camp."

Nyika shook her head. "Risk came through here; I can smell him."

"Risk is dead."

"He may not be."

Goragula raised furless brows. "You'll kill yourself for his sake?"

The wildcat nodded. "He killed himself for ours."

"So be it."

They tarried long enough to root for supplies and by they time they were finished it was a successful pillage. Nyika had found a bag of medical supplies, and they had stuffed blankets, spare clothing, and food in sacks to carry with them.

"We need alcohol," the cat said once the essentials had been gathered. She began sticking her nose in bottles to determine the highest grain.

"For another night of carousing?" Goragula's tone was sneering.

Nyika sneered back. "For disinfectant. I saw Captain Noonahootin. He used the last of his stock on Gashrock."

"How presumptuous of me."

There were only three bottles worth salvaging, which Nyika stuck in the sack of clothing to prevent them from breaking. Satisfied with herself, she turned to the toad, blinking as he held out a familiar crystal ball.

"I believe this is yours," he said.

"Aye." Nyika shuffled on her feet, arranging the sacks to a more comfortable position. "Do you want it?"

Goragula looked surprised. "You don't?"

The wildcat pursed her lips, wondering what he was getting at. What they could use a crystal ball for was beyond her. Perhaps they could use it to light fires. "No."

"Why?"

"It's just glass. Nothing but extra weight. Keep it if you want; I have no use for it."

She watched him as he lifted the orb, admiring its shape and flawless design, watching his expression become lost in the reflection of flickering torchlight. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that his visage took on the image of Vulpuz himself. Her lips spread in a grin.

"You're superstitious," she said.

"Mind your manners," Goragula snapped, glaring at her. The fox demon faded from his slitted eyes. Nyika's grin grew wider.

"Don't lie," she said coyly.

"Are you real?" the toad asked.

"What?"

"I asked if you were real. A real seer."

Her grin faded to a scowl. "Of course I'm real."

Goragula gave a short laugh. "I've met plenty of fakes who said the same thing."

Nyika raised her head, peering down her nose at him. "Tell me what you see in that crystal ball, Greenfleck. Do you sense magic in it? Does it hold your breath, cradling your heart? What need do I have of some prop to focus my power? Your haunts bear down on you, waiting for one false slip, and then they'll descend. You may not notice them, you may not care, but they're there, and I can see the way their soulless eyes glisten, wetting their lips for the time you pass from this world."

The amusement in his eyes faded into a deathly glare.

"Do not underestimate me, merchant." She opened her paw, bidding him. "My crystal ball, please."

He held it just out of reach. "You'd better watch your tongue, Grimalkin. One nasty twist of fate and you'll get strung up as a witch or burnt at the stake. I've seen both."

"You forget who I fear." Stepping forward, she retrieved the ball from his hand and placed it in her haversack, wrapping a blanket around its perfect surface.

"I did not say you would die."

A shudder passed down her back, fluffing her tail at his threat.

"Let's go," Goragula said. "There is nothing more we can salvage, and I grow weary of your company."

With that Nyika and Goragula ventured forth into the tunnels, following Risk's destructive path into the kitchens. It was here that Nyika realized they had reached the place where Risk had begun his massacre. A soft red glow emanated from all around them, dulled by the mounds of soil that had been tossed atop burning embers. They were in the larders, now, Nyika knew by the overbearing stench of burnt grains and alcohol. Her eyes adjusted as she stood at the threshold, the thick shadows of the room taking form from the light of Goragula's torch. It was hot, too, like a furnace. Her body shivered from the remnants of her unfortunate dip in the icy lake the day before.

Yet despite the scent of blood that lingered in the air like a rotten aftertaste in one's mouth, there was no evidence of the death she had expected. Mounds of dirt lay in deep piles with broken and charred tables scattered about the room. There were no moles, though, nor was there Risk. They must have collected their dead, stifled the fires and left them to smolder. Hopefully the ferret was still alive somewhere.

As they continued past the dining hall Nyika lost all sense of her surroundings, Goragula becoming a vague shape that traveled next to her. Though death hung in the air no haunts had lingered, for which she was thankful, releasing her fear that they may block her way. Risk was nearby—she could still smell him. She pressed on.

Leaving the smoke behind her, Nyika's whiskers twitched at the scent of familiar blood. Her heart leapt in her chest as she approached a large concave mound of dirt piled the wall. The unmistakable odor of Risk permeated through, his rancid wound still fresh in her mind from the night before. She pressed her paw against the soil, feeling it shift, realizing how loosely packed it was. They must have caved him in.

"He's here," she said to Goragula.

"Nyika."

The wildcat froze. It was not the toad who had spoken.

It was a familiar voice, one that had always been there to provide comfort and solace during her most troubling times, but there was something different about it. It had become hoarse and gravelly, like rubbing sandpaper over a dirt road. Nyika's heart quickened in her chest, igniting a spark of rage that flared from within. It was all she could to do keep her focus on the task at paw.

"Risk is in there, isn't he?"

"Yes," Nyika said, twisting around to glare at the apparition before her. It was a wildcat in her middle years, her color pattern strikingly similar to Nyika's own, but when once she was pretty and alluring, now her fur was old and grayed, a ghostly shell of her former self. Her eyes no longer held the light of wisdom and guidance, but were white and milky and terrifying. A red stain spread on her tattered dress from her split gut, ripped open by the same blade Nyika wore at her waist. The young seer held herself, quelling her rolling stomach that had threatened her to retch. The apparition was ghastly, and Nyika regretted turning around to address her.

"Hello, Mum," she spat.

"You're angry."

"Why shouldn't I be!" Nyika shouted, forgetting her place, forgetting where she was and who she was with and the danger she was in.

"I was only trying—"

"Trying to what?" Nyika snapped, cutting her off. "To protect me? From what? Knowing my mother was a whore? That you condemned my death before I had even left the womb? It's a hard price to pay when you're found accomplice to a crime you never committed."

"He saved you," her mother said. Nyika's fur bristled at the audacity of her words.

"He _abandoned_ me."

"He loved you!"

"He left me!" Nyika was screaming now. "He left me with the foxes, and he left me to go off and die a hero's death." She was pacing about the corridor, flecks of spittle slinging from her mouth. Goragula's torchlight had disappeared, casting them in darkness but her mother remained bright and lucid as ever. "Some champion! He didn't want me. As soon as he found out who I was he packed his things and left." She shook her head, her pacing slowed. Tears stung her eyes. "Why didn't he want me, Mum?"

"Come here, kitten," her mother said, opening her arms. For an instant her gruesome appearance changed, and she was once more the beautiful, tender wildcat mother Nyika had always remembered. Nyika came forward, wiping her tears as she allowed her mother to wrap her arms about her as they sat together on the ground. "I know you're mad, and you have every right to be, but you must see that Risk was protecting you. What do you think happened when they found me, dead and cut open with no kitten nearby? They hunted him. Why do you think he gave you to the vixens' care? Who better than to keep quiet than a pack of rambling gypsies?"

Nyika opened her mouth, ready to bark some response, but there was nothing to say.

"Now look what he has done," her mother continued, stroking her head. "He has sacrificed himself to eradicate the very force that threatens your life. These moles will kill you, they have tried time and again. Never once has Risk thought of himself; only you."

Nyika sniffed as she curled against her mother, her rage melting into an overwhelming feeling of shame and embarrassment. Despite how angry she had been, despite how much she had wanted her mother to be wrong, she knew she was right. Risk had saved her, twice now, and if he had abandoned her in the process it was for her own well-being. The ferret had simply run out of choices.

"Go to him," her mother said, her voice soft and soothing, the way Nyika had always remembered it, the same voice that had provided solace and comfort to the frightening world around her. Nyika nodded, and then she found herself alone and curled against the tunnel wall.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the wildcat seer picked herself up and turned once more to the loosely packed soil that barred her path. A tunnel had been made, but Nyika hadn't remembered it being there before. She shook her head. Now was not the time to ruminant over such mysteries.

She did not find it odd to discover light in the small room she found herself in. All her attention was focused on the ferret laying prone on the ground. For once Risk was alone—none of his haunts present—and a lump formed in Nyika's throat realizing why they had departed. She would offer a prayer, spill his blood. Isn't that what Istvan would have wanted? Put Risk at peace once and for all, but as she placed a paw over his chest she felt it rise ever so slightly, ever so slowly.

"Risk," she said. He was so cold.

"Risk," she said again, her breath catching.

The ferret gave no response.

Stifling her tears, Nyika removed the knife from her belt, the blade singing in her paw. She looked down at Risk, admiring him, feeling sorry for all those rotten emotions she had harbored against him. What was it like to be in his footpaws? What was it like to kill her mother, to rip her apart and extract a dead kitten from the womb? What was it like to find that kitten had survived, to care for it, keeping her by his side as they hunted him for three long years? That was when Vera said they received her, when she was three years old. He had never watched her grow, never knew the adolescent wildcat who she had become. Despite what she had wanted to believe, he had never forgotten her. He had kept the knife, after all.

"Hey, hey, hey, rainy face. Hey, proud warrior." A lump caught in her throat. "Let the sun come … come out, you big … you big bad h-hordesbeast. You know …champion," she whispered, choking on her tears, "we … we a-all have per … permission … t-t' make … mis … mis … mis …"

She couldn't finish.

Taking the dagger in her paw, Nyika drew the blade across his throat. Risk's blood pooled beside them.

"What are you doing?" Goragula's gravelly voice rumbled beside her.

Nyika sniffed, pressing her paw against her eyes to quell the tears as she turned to the toad. How long had he been standing there? She had forgotten him.

"I wanted him to have a peaceful death," she stammered, trying to offer an explanation.

"He was already dead."

"He was breathing."

"No, he wasn't."

The words shocked her, shaking the wildcat to her core.

"I've said this before, but you're an odd one, do you know that?"

Nyika shuddered, placing her head against Risk's body. "Yes."

"Do you agree?"

A fiery rage grew inside her at his words. What did he mean by that? Was he mocking her?

"Do you remember a squirrel by the name of Arenn? He had a wife about to bear child," she said.

There was no change in expression, no flinch. Nyika might as well have been talking about the weather.

She continued. "She was going to have a girl."

Nyika allowed a moment to let that sink in. A girl, just like her. And just like her, she had been condemned to death before she was even born. How terrible must it have been for the mother to know her life would end, that her child would never see the light of day? Was it anything like what her own mother had experienced? Nyika's paw tightened on the hilt of her dagger, her rage hotter than fire, more suffocating than smoke.

"Kill the toad," Clarence said in her ear.

"Will you leave it alone!" Nyika shrieked. "I'm not doing it!"

"Your vole friend, I wager?" Goragula was not amused.

Nyika's ears perked at his slip. She had not named Clarence as a vole. Still, she let it slide. "He is irritating me."

The toad nodded. "Why did you find it necessary to tell me what some wretch had in her womb?"

Nyika sighed, toying with the flap of Risk's slit throat. "I just thought you might like to know," she said, her voice bitter and resigned.

"Well, if you are finished making peace with yourself and your _champion_…" The word oozed with derision. "…I suggest we continue on our way, lest we find ourselves in the company of our enemies."

There was nothing else to do. Rising, Nyika led the way out of the small cave-in, dragging her foot paws as they continued to wander blindly through the tunnels. She had gone no more than a few paces before the sounds of a scuffle echoed through the passageways.

"Listen," Nyika said, holding out a paw. "Do you hear that?"

Goragula lifted his head. "It seems they have found our friends."

The wildcat's eyes went wide. She could hear Vanessa's highland threats mingled with the tremulous sounds of a thousand moles. What could they do? They couldn't very well just rush off into battle. By the sound of it, there were too many moles, all their "burr hurrs" and "oi gums" drowning out the shouts and yells of her companions. Her mind raced, trying to think of a plan, a distraction. Anything would do. A terrible idea struck her.

"Back in here," Nyika said, ushering the toad where Risk lay fallen.

Once there, her order was succinct. "Skin him."

Goragula looked at her twice. "Excuse me?"

"Skin him!" Did he need an explanation? The ferret was too heavy to carry themselves, loaded down with supplies as they were. "He's not needing it, and we do!"

Whatever it was Nyika had planned, Goragula seemed to abandon wanting any and all knowledge. Raising the knife in his hand, he said, "As you wish, Grimalkin," and set to his grisly task.

It was a shoddy job, poorly done in haste, but it would serve her purposes. Once enough of Risk's flesh had been stripped from his body Nyika slung it over her shoulder, grabbed Goragula's torch, and bolted down the passageway, the stench of blood and fur and fire trailing in her wake. She did not know how far she ran until they ran into her.

"Nyika!" Vanessa shouted.

"Get behind me!" the wildcat commanded. Beyond them were scores of moles giving chase, wielding all manner of crude weaponry: torches, pitchforks, knives, and daggers to name a few.

She didn't have much time, but here she was. Nyika was in her element. Everything she had been training for built for this moment. Here she could steal the scene, make Gashrock proud of her. Show the rat what she was capable of. No more would Nyika be just the terrified seer sneaking around at night gathering information to make an authentic telling for Dewhurst and his players. Gashrock would see, and she'd love it. She'd beg to reform the troupe, and Nyika would be the greatest seer the circus had ever seen.

Tossing Risk's skin and her sacks to the ground, Nyika rummaged through her wares of alcohol, pulling out the strongest she could find and filling her mouth with the bitter liquid. Hoisting the torch aloft, she sprayed the alcohol as hard as she could, fire blooming from her mouth and singing her brow and whiskers. The moles hesitated, some shielding their eyes. She had their attention.

"Fire burn and brimstone bake,  
Vulpuz open up thy Gates!  
From his wrath thou won't be saved,  
Return the ferret from the grave!"

Nyika had never prided herself on her improvisation, but she had to admit her chant was not half bad. Casting her torch on the ground, Nyika hurled the bottle of alcohol after it, fire erupting in a brilliant pillar of light. Past the blinding flames she could see the moles cower in terror. She needed to be quick, while they were distracted. Crouching down, Nyika threw Risk's skin over her body, his broken maw resting atop her head. Blood and gore clung to her, settling in her fur and sending a shudder down her back. The smell was overpowering. Through the bile rising in her throat Nyika stood, suppressing the urge to vomit as she snarled and hissed and growled in the best Risk impression she could muster.

"Hey, that's not half bad," Risk said next to her.

"Burr hurr, 'ee's backen!"

"Gurrt 'eavens!"

" 'E wurr deaden! Hoi seens it wit' moi ownen oiyes!"

"Eeeeee!"

It definitely had the effect she wanted. The moles scattered, trampling over each other in a frantic attempt to escape the monster that had decimated their ranks now risen from the grave. There was a rumble, and dirt exploded all around her.

When at last the dust had settled, Nyika found herself alone, fire in front of her and darkness behind. With no adrenaline surging through her veins, the smell of Risk's flesh enveloped her, causing her to retch and empty the contents of her stomach on the ground. It smelled a little better after that.

"Ha! Did you see them scatter? What a load of yellow-gutted trouser-less fools! Nobeast can face the wrath of Risk the Cutter, livin' or dead!"

Nyika turned her head to the side, saliva and bile dripping from her mouth. The wildcat blanched. It had been gibberish, an act, but there Risk was standing next to her, flexing his muscles and kissing his biceps. Whatever she said, whatever she had done, she had truly summoned Risk from the brink of Hellgates.

"Risk," Nyika said. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Aren't I? Ahh, forgot you could see ghosts … I been hauntin' the moles! It's a lark. Death's great! Hey, fancy dressin', is that my pelt? Greenphlegm got back at me for his rat, eh? The old goober. He's a jolly old licorice, ain't he."

"I like licorice," Nyika retorted, then shook her head, repeating herself. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Ah, leave me alone. I'm stayin' as long as I want. I don't hurt no more and I get to watch Zevka undress without being scolded. It's great."

Nyika gave him a frosty glare.

Risk shuffled his feet. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll turn around when you do."

"Hoo-eee!" Vanessa's voice reverberated off the walls, interrupting the unexpected reunion. "Ne'er had I seen somethin' like that in all me days! Nyika! Ye're a real bonnie lass, ye know that?" The highland otter padded up to the stricken wildcat.

It was Zevka who spoke next. "Don't tell me. Is that…?"

"Risk?" Istvan's voice was incredulous.

"Nay! It's Nyika th' Cutter is who that is!" Vanessa said. She gave a brawny slap on Nyika's back, and the wildcat could feel the fat settle deeper into her fur.

"He's all over me," Nyika said, crouched and shivering. What had she done? What had gone through her head? She was disgusting.

"You …" Zevka hesitated.

Nyika wondered what she had to say, hopeful for any encouraging words. "Saved us!" "Were great!" Her mind flitted through the possibilities. Anything to lessen the impact of her horrendous actions.

"Stink." Gashrock finished.

"Aye," Zevka said, bringing a paw to her nose and turning away.

Nyika gave a silent wail inside.

"We should leave," Goragula muttered behind them. "As brilliant as the Grimalkin's scheme was, the moles will regroup in time. We should take the advantage while we have it." Despite the toad's deadpan tone, there was a hint of admiration that surfaced.

"He's right," Zevka said. "Come on." She looked as though she were about to help Nyika rise, then remembered what she was covered in and decided instead to pick up the discarded sacks by their feet.

"We'll retrace our steps," Goragula said. "It's a clear path from where we last got separated. The base of the tree should still be open."

"Is it noo?" Vanessa blinked. "We ran intae blockage after blockage. Are ye sure th' path is clear?"

"Aye," Nyika said, wiling herself to stand. Her knees buckled. Zevka bent to help her, then let go and retched off to the side. "The moles were after you two. I don't think they knew we were here."

"Let's get going then," Istvan said. "Before they gather their courage. May the All-Mother keep their wills at bay."

"Nyika?" Zevka said, lingering for a minute as the rest of them began running back the way the wildcat and toad had come. "You may wish to discard that." She indicated Risk's skin.

Nyika nodded, casting aside her second set of fur. Seeing his body flop on the ground like that, half his head lolling at an unnatural angle, sent a pang of sadness through her. Slick with blood and gore, Nyika ran a paw through her headfur, grabbing globules of fat and slinging them to the ground in a stomach wrenching _splat_. Once again Risk the Cutter had spared her from death. How many lives did she have left? Five? Four? Three of them she owed to Risk alone, maybe more.

Her ears swiveled at the sound of a cry. "Wait," she said.

Zevka turned around.

Moving past the dying flames, Nyika went to where the moles had panicked. A few had been left behind, buried in dirt from the frantic cave-in. One was alive. It was a child, no more than a few seasons, curled against the legs of his parents and crying softly.

"Hello?" Nyika said, approaching with cautious steps.

"Nyika!" Zevka hissed. "Get back here!"

The molebabe sniffed, wiping dirty claws against his snout. "Is 'ee gurt moonster gone?"

"Aye," Nyika said, ignoring Zevka's growls to leave him be. "He's gone. What's your name?"

"Gypsumfur," the molebabe said.

"Come with me," Nyika said, extending a paw.

Gypsumfur hesitated. " 'Ee smell turrible."

The wildcat smiled. "I know."

Taking his paw, Nyika led him away from the ghostly apparitions that lingered behind.


	36. Details in the Fabric

**36. Details in the Fabric**

_By: Gashrock_

It felt good to be armed and, if not exactly dangerous, several times more formidable than she had been just waiting for Blackbriar to cut her free. No—Zevka. While she'd hardly befriended the pine marten, somewhere in their captivity they'd progressed to a mutually first name basis.

So, it was Zevka who replaced her saber by her side. Gashrock, for her part, was able to catch her breath and test the weight of the dagger in her paw. "Ain't mine," she announced, "but it'll do."

"Why's et's nae yers?" asked Fern, still bloodied and flecked with sweat from her battle with the moles and the subsequent run.

"On account of, mine was sort of beat-up on this side, see. This one's cack-handed. Well it ain't, it's the other cack-handed...ah, no matter."

"Well, then," said Istvan. "We'll need to be retracing our steps."

"Aye, thank you," said Gashrock. "Just—wait a tick. Summat I need to find."

"Wot? Summat ye need tae find? We are _nae_ goin' back tae find yer dagger!" said Fern.

"No we ain't! That can rust in these clarty holes, I reckon. No, er, Zevka and I saw a message."

"Gashrock," Zevka amended, "saw a piece of paper—"

"Get delivered real uh-fisshel like. Between a couple of guards in Carrig outfits. Moles! It ain't right." All right, not all of them were in Carrig outfits, one of them had come along with a headdress of feathers. The point stood.

"Ach, Gashrock, we ain't hangin' aboot 'ere fer a blasted piece o' _paper_, Carrig-wotsit moles or no! We came tae git ye oot, this isnae wot we're here fer!"

"No we ain't," Gashrock agreed once more, "but I ain't showin' up in Carrigul, just to find they've all traded places and everything's built out of hollowed-out mole dirt. C'mon, won't be long."

"Gashrock," said Zevka, "This is not a script. Not everything is a clue."

"You owe me one. We'll make it quick."

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"It'll be right back behind where they kept us," said Gashrock. "Or, thay-ruh-bouts."

"And could you not have...identified this while you were escaping?" Istvan pressed.

Fern limped forward, as well, making sure everyone heard her opinion. "Zevka, yer_ not_ goin' back doon there agin. Ah dinnae fancy havin' tae pull off this thing a second time, ye ken!"

Zevka flashed the otter a combination of a smile and a grimace. "I'm not looking forward to it either, but _somebeast_ needs to keep an eye on Gashrock. Don't worry, though, if things get too bad, I will drag her back here kicking and screaming, if need be."

Gashrock gave Zevka a grateful smile before turning her attention back to Istvan. "It'll be easier to haul out of here than a ruddy molebrat." She glared at Nyika and the squirming babe that clung to her paw. "And make less of a mess." All right, maybe that was being unfair on the molebabe. Its monosyllabic grunts probably rhymed better than Nyika's excuse of an incantation. Though it would have been worth it, to really see Cookie again...

"It would be a poor repayment of our time," Istvan went on, "if you need us to rescue you once more."

"Look, iffen it ain't there, we'll come right on back, ain't gonna hunt around."

"I cannot forbid you, you're not in my employ—"

"Ah, confound it, good enough for me."

She rushed back along the nearest structurally-intact tunnel, and Zevka followed along as they retraced their footsteps—the dirt being somewhat more difficult than the snow, but far easier than normal terrain, to spot pawprints in. Sure enough, after a few slow twists, they spotted a molemaid, and a piece of parchment curled up on a ledge made of soil.

Gashrock jumped for it, testing the altitude. Not quite. She landed. The mole turned.

"Escapin' prisoners!" she bellowed. Well. _There_ was somebeast that everybeast could agree was behind the times.

Gashrock jumped again, that time managing to topple the parchment from the ledge; it landed between her footpaw and that of the mole. They jostled and, before either could pick it up, stood each with one paw on it, careful not to step backwards and rip it entirely.

Zevka approached, saber at the ready. "Give over."

The mole grunted. "Oo ur? An' why?"

"On account of we're armed, and you ain't," said Gashrock. It was hardly a fair fight. There'd be no _sense_ in attacking the mole, on those terms. Wasn't that right? Even the moles had never killed them, for whatever reason. Disarmed them, yes, but were they just planning to leave them in the cell? She tried to guess what Istvan would have made of just attacking then and there. A potentially violent act, yes, but...needlessly so.

She wasn't sure if she understood him. She wasn't sure if she _could_. And yet, everything did fit together, in his mind. Truths were truths. They didn't pass out of style. All he really needed was a way to organize his ideas, pass them down.

Gashrock made a mental note to herself to suggest ballad meter.

And then the mole was stepping backwards, allowing Gashrock to pluck the paper up from the floor. She squinted, trying to make out the shape on the bottom. But before she could take it in, the mole was reaching for something on the ledge, obscured under the architecture of dirt. Then she'd slashed forward, slicing Gashrock's weak arm. As Zevka rushed forwards indignantly, Gashrock lurched backwards, in time to hurl the letter back down the corridor with her good arm—let some fool molebeast pick it up, going through the two of them!

No fool molebeast dared. Indeed, as Gashrock stumbled to the side of the passage, bracing herself, Zevka charged onwards, whirling her saber and slicing the mole's throat.

"So much for that'un," Gashrock muttered, the pain in her arm having more than just cause to flare up again. She couldn't even bring herself to muster a "good riddance." Riddance _wasn't_ good. Ever, really. A simple enough rule—you could always just as soon turn something into patches, saving ever smaller scraps, but never throwing it all away.

"Look what she did to you!" Zevka jumped, recoiling from a wound dripping rather more copiously than the saber. Fake blood was all well and good to spread out consistently, every furspot the same as the next, but the reality was stranger. Pricking her finger could be inconsequential, but just a single cut in a vulnerable position...well, efficiency was sort of the principle of the thing.

All the same, she could still walk, and she could still see. "Let's go get that letter."

"I'll get it, hold on. Please don't tell me that was your dagger," Zevka said, as she hustled and Gashrock staggered to where the message had fallen. It felt like a long distance. Or was that just how far she'd thrown it?

"Told you it ain't. Mine's cack-handed. Remember? Here, now..."

"Gashrock, you're bleeding on the letter."

"Might be. Would be an imp-rovement to their spellin', ain't got no dots on the is or owt." She tried to tear off a strip of fabric from her robes, but her hand faltered.

"What are you doing—"

"Tryin' to tie this off, but..." She'd seen the concern flash in Zevka's eyes, her reach for her saber to fashion a cloth that would serve, but there would be no point if there was no time. "Skip to the end, now—what? Just to find who wrote it."

"Finish the job, then we'll talk of provisions." Zevka read.

Gashrock peered over, stumbling low to glimpse the paper through the dim light. A picture of a badger. "That's the...seal of Yew. Innit?" That was one of the trumped-up bits of landlubbing life she'd never quite understood. Most of them didn't even know what a proper Seafolk looked like.

"Of Yew? Don't worry about that." Zevka offered Gashrock her arm. "We'll have to find a way to tell the guards. It's not going to be easy for them at all...but we'll figure that out later. First let's get you out of here."

"Let's get out of...these ruddy old caves...and get to Carrigul. Don't trust..." They were walking forward, but to Gashrock's unsteady pace the caves looked like they could have given way again. They were smelly, crumbling apart even as she passed through. Pitching up and down. She could have gone to sea, for that...

"Gashrock?" Zevka must have ripped off a bandage, already soaked through.

"Told you..."

"Ssh, we'll deal with Yew later."

"No. Told you, you owed me. Take the message, let them see...and we're square."


	37. Bombing Smurfs

**37. Bombing Smurfs**

_By: Zevka_

Never before had Zevka truly appreciated what a wonderful thing it was to take a deep breath of fresh, clean air. That first step out of the tunnels had felt truly wonderful for a few seconds, before the heavy weight on her shoulder had driven home the fact that Gashrock would never enjoy this experience the way Zevka could. The poor rat had never gotten to see the sunlight again before dying.

It was a profoundly sobering thought, and it made Zevka appreciate the fact that she got to see how the sun refracted brightly off the newly fallen snow.

The party had emerged from the tunnels to find themselves in an unfamiliar area. The moles had kept their distance from the group ever since seeing that they had acquired a molebabe. The tunnelers had at least kept the group in sight while underground, but had allowed them to slip out of range altogether once the party reached the surface. A heavy blanket of fresh snow covered the earth, although there wasn't any more coming down at the moment. They had buried Gashrock in that snow, wrapped in the silk the rat had found. They had done it a bit more hastily than Zevka would have normally wanted, but at least their companion had not been left to the elements. A few times, Zevka was sure she had caught Nyika giggling quietly to some unheard joke. Zevka didn't say anything to this, but it made her smile.

The group that had gone into the tunnels had reunited with Poko, Noonahootin and most of their supplies on the surface. As glad as Zevka had been to see their companions - not to mention their goods - the look on Poko's face when she had seen Gashrock's body had been heartbreaking. The ferret and the owl had managed to bring most of the important supplies with them, and nobeast was particularly eager to walk over the top of the moles' domain to fetch anything the pair had neglected.

The travelers had only managed to press on for a little bit over an hour after reuniting. They were all tired and injured, and Noonahootin had looked positively exhausted, collapsing in a heap almost as soon as the party had stopped to rest. The rest of the group had settled down for a bit to attend to their own needs, mostly in silence.

Zevka knelt down, picked up some snow and rubbed it on her exposed forearms in an attempt to get the worst of the dirt and grime out of her fur. It was a very mixed success. The marteness took stock of her clothing, and scowled at the discovery that her left sleeve was barely connected to the rest of her tunic, and that she could see her fur through a hole in the knee of her pants. To make matters worse, the strain in her arm from catching Risk was back with a vengeance, probably aggravated by being wrenched about by moles. Worst of all was her tail, which had swept up dirt and dust like a broom as they had dragged her through the tunnels.

_It's bad enough that they wanted to kill me, but did they _really_ have to do that with my tail?_

The marteness looked around at the rest of her companions, of which she now had one less.

_Poor Gashrock and Risk..dying underground, not even getting to breath fresh air with their last breaths...you both deserved so much better than that._

Zevka would not have expected to miss either the ferret or the rat as much as she did now, but miss them she did. Amazing how well attached you could get to a beast in a short time when in a situation like this.

"Burr, Oi be turrible 'ungered, Miz Poine Marten. C'n Oi 'ave summat t' eat?" Gypsumfur, the young mole that Nyika had rescued, chose this exceedingly inopportune moment to waddle up beside her.

Zevka felt sour bile rising in her throat as a pair of strong, invisible paws gripped her guts and squeezed. Her lip curled back in loathing. "No, you can't have something to eat, you miserable little wormeater!" she snarled, teeth bared.

Gypsumfur seemed taken aback. The little mole backpedaled away from the angry marteness. "Please doan't yell at Oi." He sniffled a little bit as Zevka continued to glare daggers at him; if anything, she looked even more predatory than before. His eyes watered. "Oi doan't want t'be yurr wi' you'm. Oi want moi ma!"

Zevka glanced up. Noonahootin seemed to be asleep, and Nessa and Nyika were standing around him looking concerned. Everybeast else was attending to their own concerns, and so nobeast was paying much attention to her. The marteness threw an arm around the molebabe in a way that could have almost been mistaken for affection. She leaned in close to Gypsumfur, her fangs close to his face. The little mole squirmed to get away, but her grip was much too strong.

Her voice was a whisper. "You know who also wants her mati? The ferret kit that your miserable little tribe just orphaned. Lots of other beasts died in your avalanche, too. That's a lot of kits and mates and friends who want a lot of beasts they can't have any more. So no, you can't have your ma. You're never going to have your ma again, because your ma killed a lot of beasts we care about, and so we probably gutted her like a fish."

Gypsumfur began to sniffle, and then to sob quietly as Zevka's words percolated into his head. Zevka got up and walked away, leaving Gypsumfur curled up in a little ball in the snow. The marteness paused for just a moment as she walked off.

_I really shouldn't have..._ a little voice in her mind started to say.

_SHUT UP!_ another part of her mind cut in savagely. _These things are a menace to every living thing they come across. Who gives a damn if you make one of them cry?_

Zevka turned and stared at Gypsumfur. Snarling into his ear hadn't made her feel any better.

_But I'll be damned if I apologize to a mole after this._

"They'll burn you'm, all o' you'ns. The Screamers Unnerground will make you'm all surry." The little mole was trying to glare at Zevka. The effect was more unsettling than it should have been, even if Zevka wasn't really sure what he was prattling on about. The marteness just growled and shook her head.

Zevka started to amble over to Nessa to see if the irrepressible lutrine could raise her spirits any, but paused as she walked past Istvan. The tattooed otter was sitting on a boulder, sharpening his knife with a whetstone. Zevka grimaced a bit.

_Oooohhhh...I really don't want to do this._

Zevka walked over to Istvan and plopped herself down next to him. The otter didn't look up. Zevka hesitated, then forced herself to start speaking.

"So, Istvan. I, uh, just wanted to say..." The pine marten's original words got bogged down somewhere between her brain and her tongue. "That, uh, I _really_ love these trees! They're the right color, they, uh, they're...um...they're _exactly_ the right height! And I'm a pine marten! So obviously, that means that I really like trees! Especially pine trees, but that doesn't mean I don't like firs...or...or spruce."

Istvan gave her a very strange look, clearly wondering if she had hit her head on something down in the tunnels. Eventually, the otter shrugged. "The Mother has given life to many beautiful things."

Zevka took a deep breath.

_Let's try this again._

"What I actually wanted to do, Istvan, is thank you for saving me, and for trying to save Gashrock. You didn't have to do that. I know it would have been easier to just give the two of us up for dead and keep on walking, and that a lot of beasts would have done just that."

Istvan's face was hard to read. "You and I have had our differences, but an unconsecrated death far below the surface of the earth is not something I would wish on my worst enemy. As a representative of the Mother, I would consider myself to have failed in my duty if I allowed such a death to occur."

Zevka tilted her head a bit. "I would have almost expected you to think the opposite, at least where I'm concerned."

"Ah yes, you and Vanessa both seem to have come to the conclusion that I would like nothing more than to watch you all die. I find the idea both insulting and amusing."

"I DID think that before, but if that was really what you wanted, I don't think you would have rescued me," Zevka replied.

"Exactly." Istvan shrugged. "You are not by any stretch of the imagination sinless in the eyes of the Mother, but neither are you unredeemable. I would not doom to eternal punishment when you have not nearly lived out your allotted days. There are many choices left for you to make. I pray they will be the right ones."

Zevka nodded. "So do I, although I don't know if we're using the same criteria." The marteness switched topics. "Even if Gashrock didn't make it out alive, rescuing her was not a waste. At least this way, she didn't have to die thinking that nobeast cared about her enough to try to help her. And what the moles had planned for us was probably a lot worse than...well..." Both beasts fell silent for a few moments.

"Anyways," Zevka said with a hint of amusement. "I guess this means I'm going to have to save your life as soon as possible. Make sure we're even."

"You really shouldn't. You do not owe me any kind of debt; I am only doing my duty." If anything, Istvan looked a tad embarrassed at Zevka's words.

"Well, all the same: thank you," Zevka said before switching gears. "Istvan...Gashrock and I recovered the letter that she saw before the mole killed her. Gashrock died getting this letter, and it's a damn important one. Could you gather up Nessa and Noonahootin? All of you need to see it. And Istvan? This is not going to be easy for any of you to hear. While you're doing that, I'm going to make sure that Poko is alright. Call me when you're ready." With that, she slid off the boulder and went to go check on the ferret kit.

Zevka walked up behind Poko, who was currently in the process of determining the tallest point of a tree that she could hit with a snowball.

"So Poko...I heard that you thrashed the stuffing out of a certain snowy owl with...a hat?"

Poko grinned. "Yeah! The harfang was coming right for us. Mister Noonahootin wanted to fight it by himself, but I wasn't about to hide and not do anything while he got shredded up." The ferret was talking a mile a minute. "So I thought about how I could make a snare, but I couldn't think of what I could use – and then it hit me!" Her paws gestured animatedly as she described the scene, "If I unraveled the hat, it'd be one long string that I might be able to use. So I did! And it worked! That bird flew right into it and you never SAW such a surprised look on an owl's face! She must've lost about half her feathers up to her chin!"

The heavy black cloud around Zevka's heart suddenly felt somewhat lighter and farther away. The marteness pulled the little ferret into a hug. "Poko, it sounds like you were just fantastic!"

The sprite beamed. "Yeah!" Suddenly, her face fell a bit. "But now Cookie's hat is mostly just thread. I was going to ask Gashrock to fix it but...but..." Poko's previously ebullient mood vanished. "Why did Gashrock have to die? She never hurt anybeast!"

Zevka set her jaw. "I'm sure she didn't. I didn't know her that well, but...I would have liked to have known her better. And I would have liked to have seen her in a play. That one was born to be a star."

"She was," Poko said sadly. "And…and they killed Cookie! I don't know how. He was the toughest beast I ever met – nobeast could ever win a fight against him. But he was always nice to me! He an' my papa did lots of shows together. They always made everyone laugh." She smiled at the memory. "Cookie always took the falls. Even if it meant landing on his head!" Her smile faded as she recognized the significance of this observation. Her face contorted and she turned from the pine marten to hide her expression. "I…I need to go…" She turned away, one paw to her mouth.

"Poko..."

Poko turned back to look at Zevka, but as she did so, her eyes went wide with fear, and she flung herself to the side. Zevka instinctively did the same, and gasped in surprise as talons gashed into the snow where she and Poko had been standing. The harfang landed hard in the snow, the awkward landing presenting a sharp contrast to the utter silence of her approach.

Zevka swore. "A little help here, anybeast?!" she shouted.

She drew her saber and tried to charge the owl, only to catch a blast of wind and snow to the face as it took off again. Nessa and Istvan both dropped what they were doing and bolted towards Zevka and the owl.

_Would it be too much to ask to have SOMEBEAST in this group who can use a bow?_

The harfang divebombed Zevka again, but rather than land a second time, she took off towards the vulnerable Noonahootin, flying low and fast. The captain seemed to be struggling to rouse himself, and it was not hard to predict what the results of a fight with the harfang were likely to be. She might have made it there, if Istvan, who was traveling on the same path in the opposite direction, had not hurled himself into the air at the owl. The otter's knife missed its mark, but he crashed into the owl, who barely prevented herself from crashing hard to earth with her lutrine assailant. This was all the time that Nessa needed to fling herself at the now-grounded owl in a flurry of punches and kicks that drove the bird back a bit.

Zevka ran towards the owl and the two otters, taking note of Poko running towards some sickly-looking trees. She could see the owl's back, which was covered with deep, oozing cuts. The harfang had to have been in agonizing pain.

Istvan made another attempt to slash at the owl as Nessa moved out of the way, but the harfang suddenly charged into him, headbutting him solidly in the chest. The otter was lifted off of his footpaws, and his knife went spiraling through the air, landing in a large pile of snow a good distance away from its owner.

"Guardsbeast! Hold off the owl!" Istvan immediately went for his knife, as Nessa charged in towards the owl. However, this time her avian nemesis was prepared. The owl struck Nessa full across the face with her wing, sending her sprawling.

Zevka swung at the owl as hard as she could, but the bird leaped out of her way and to the side, then took off again. The pine marteness yelped as the owl gripped her arm and lifted her into the air by her sword arm, the owl's talons digging in painfully. She dropped her saber. The owl carried Zevka for a few terrifying seconds. However, even as she struggled, Zevka could hear the owl wheezing and see the strain in its muscles; it clearly was not accustomed to carrying adult mustelids. Suddenly, the owl's head snapped to the side, as somebeast else caught her attention. The harfang abruptly dropped Zevka.

The marteness fell to earth in deep snow. The fall knocked the wind out of her a bit, but the snow cushioned her well, and the harfang had not been flying very high.

"Please doan't yell at Oi agin," said a familiar voice from next to her.

Zevka snarled as she righted herself. Gypsumfur was the last beast she wanted to see right now. The marteness immediately set to work locating the harfang. Her blood ran cold as she saw what had stolen its attention: Poko.

The frightened sprite was in a tree, struggling to use the meager cover it provided as the owl attacked. Zevka looked around frantically. Nessa was only just starting to struggle to her footpaws. Istvan was digging through the snow, still looking for his knife. Her sword lay far out of her reach. She probably couldn't reach the owl in time, and even if she could, she wasn't Nessa.

Zevka winced as Poko stepped on a brittle branch and fell out of the tree. The owl screeched in triumph. Poko pulled out Zevka's dagger and pointed it at the harfang, but the avian menace wasn't afraid of her, and advanced rapidly.

"POKO!" Zevka screamed, ears flat againt her head. But suddenly, her eyes fell on Gypsumfur, and a sudden thought came into her mind.

_The owl is just hungry; that's all this is...so let's give her something else to eat instead!_

The marteness leaped to her footpaws, just as the owl prepared to tear into Poko with its wicked beak. She grabbed Gypsumfur, ignoring his shouts of panic. The pine marten took a running start, spun around in a circle and threw the molebabe with all of her strength.

"Snack on this!"

The mole flew through the air, and crashed straight into the owl. The harfang whirled around, its wicked beak lashing out. Blood sprayed across the snow, and Gypsumfur screamed. The harfang backpedaled, and then stared at the writhing mole for several moments, as though utterly stunned at witnessing the results of her actions. Poko seized the moment to put some distance between herself and the owl, while Zevka ran for her sword. Before she could retrieve it, however, the owl picked up the mole and took off, flying away as quickly as her wings would carry her.

"Poko!" Zevka ran over to the ferret kit as soon as the owl was gone, and pulled the sprite into a crushing hug. Poko seemed taken aback by the gesture for a moment, but made no immediate effort to try to escape.

"Errfff...I'm alright, Zevka."

"_What_ have you done?!" a voice demanded from behind Zevka. Zevka turned around, and felt a pronounced chill run up her spine at the mix of fury and utter disgust on Istvan's face. The otter had not sheathed his knife, and Zevka suddenly realized that there was a very real chance that Istvan might try to use it on her. She reached for her saber. It wasn't there.

_SCAT! No weapons, and Istvan is much stronger than me. I could actually die over this!_

"I saved you from death in the tunnels to give you a chance to repent and become a better creature, not to become a worse one, and certainly not to throw away the life of a kit!" Istvan's fury was etched on his face, but he made no further moves towards Zevka, and his knife paw remained at his side.

The marteness bristled. "I did what I had to do, Istvan! My sword was gone, Nessa wasn't going to get there in time, and you were still fumbling around in the snow looking for your knife. It was the mole or Poko, and that's not a decision at all."

"And does it not worry you at all that your first instinct was to sacrifice the most defenseless member of our party? Children are a precious thing, Zevka. No matter the species. You should have been willing to sacrifice yourself in his place!"

Zevka did a double take. "Member of our- that mole was NOT a member of our group! That mole is from the tribe responsible for every single bad thing that has happened to any of lately. Kit or no, I am not going to choose one of our enemies over any of us - not over you, either, Istvan!" The marteness was aware of the shrill tone creeping into her voice, but couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"That mole relied entirely on us for protection! He was the youngest, the most innocent out of all of us - what possible sins could he have committed? I mourn for Risk and Gashrock as much as you, but we slaughtered that mole's parents in front of him!" Istvan replied. The otter leaned forward, and Zevka started a bit, stepping backwards.

"Has he not paid enough for the sins of his tribe?" the otter demanded.

"This isn't about fairness!" Zevka shouted with a sneer that just wasn't quite up to her usual standard. "How, exactly, would you have stopped the owl, Istvan? We were all too far away."

Istvan looked genuinely frustrated. "I don't know! Mother forgive me, I don't know. But-"

"Let's not forget that I was about to get eaten!" Poko broke in, looking a little bit peeved at Istvan. "She didn't have much time."

"There is always a choice between good and evil in every action we make, and I refuse to believe that there was no other way to resolve the situation," Istvan replied.

Zevka snarled. "Well, I didn't have one, and I didn't have time to look - Nessa, you know I didn't have a choice, don't you?" Zevka asked, a hint of pleading in her voice.

The other Yew Guard had finally made her way over to where Zevka and Istvan stood. Any hope of support from Nessa evaporated as Zevka saw the otter's face. "Zevka, what did ye do? Ye ne'er put an innocent beast in danger, least o' all a kit! Ye jus' threw him oot as fodder! "

Poko looked more troubled than angry at Nessa's outburst. Istvan merely nodded at his fellow Yew Guard.

Zevka looked as though Nessa had slapped her. "Nessa, please! I can't do this with you, too!" The marten's voice broke just a bit as she said this.

"Um ... actually, if no one minds me saying...I don't think Zevka did anything ... wrong," Nyika said, slinking up to the group. When they all looked at her to explain, she continued. "I mean, I don't think the owl was trying to kill Gypsumfur at all. Didn't you see the way she attacked us? She wasn't looking for food. She wanted us dead, and went for the healthiest and strongest first. I think the owl was trying to save Gypsumfur, not kill him."

The group took a moment to consider this information. Zevka tried to grab at the lifeline Nyika had just thrown her.

"Right!" Zevka shouted a little too loudly. "She did look like she -"

"Ye jest." Nessa scowled.

"No, I'm not, actually." There was a flash of heat in the wildcat's words. "Didn't anybeast see the way the owl struck him? It was an accident! Didn't you see her expression? How horrified she looked? How upset? If she was looking for somebeast to eat, why didn't she target him first? Nobeast was watching him! Why didn't she target me? Look at me! My arm's in a sling, and I'm covered in blood and guts! She didn't even give me a second glance!"

"What're ye railing aboot, Nyika? Didnae ye see what that beak did-"

"I did." Nyika was beginning to tremble. "I also saw the way she nuzzled him after she struck him, and the way she cradled him in her talons before she took off. I think the owl was trying to protect him ... from us."

Zevka felt a surge of gratitude towards the young seer. "That's-"

"Ye couldnae have kenned that the owl was nae goin' to kill Gypsumfur!" Nessa cut the marteness off. "Ye reckoned ye were throwin' him to be tairn tae pieces by the owl! Ye could 'ave done somethin', stopped the owl yerself, distracted her...!"

Zevka scowled. "Nessa, I'm not you! I can't pummel an owl to death with my bare paws. Those wrestling moves I showed you don't really work on birds! Besides, I don't think I could have even gotten there in time." The marteness indicated her own stocky build. "And I'm not exactly a champion sprinter."

Nessa glared angrily at Zevka. "Ye could have tried rather than do what ye did!"

"I could have tried and failed, and Poko would have been torn to pieces right in front of us!" Zevka snarled.

Nessa had already turned back towards the wildcat. "And Ah've a problem with yer theory, Nyika: if the owl was trahing to kill us all, starting with the strongest, then why did it ignore me and Istvan and Zevka and go for Poko? It could have kept thrashing us, or dragged Zevka more. Why didnae it?"

"Because you were fighting back! You had knives and swords and fists and she was injured! Poko was the most vulnerable!"

"No more vulnerable than you," Poko muttered.

Zevka tried again to salvage the situation. "We don't know for sure what the owl was doing, but the mole-"

"Gypsumfur!" Nessa shouted. "The lil' un had a _name_ Zevka, and a ma and a da, and maybe a broother or sister! He had beasts who cared aboot him, Zevka! He was a real beast! And whether Nyika kens something or not, ye thought ye were tossing him to be eaten."

Zevka's tail bottlebrushed, and her ears flattened. Her voice shook. "I-I _can't_ do this right now, Nessa. Not- not with you! Not after losing Risk and Gashrock. Come find me when you're actually thinking straight!" The marteness stormed off into the snow. Istvan let her go. Nessa didn't. Zevka was vaguely aware of Nyika trying to follow her and Nessa, although Istvan put his paw on her shoulder and held her back.

Zevka walked for several minutes, trying desperately to ignore the otter's verbal slings and arrows. Finally, she whirled around.

"Nessa, what the 'Gates was I supposed to do?! I didn't do anything wro-"

The otter closed the gap between them with shocking speed, and Zevka was unpleasantly reminded of just how much stronger and faster Nessa was. Nessa's face was practically touching Zevka's. "Naethin' wrong? Zevka, you just killed a kit! Gypsumfur was an innocent, and ye don' _ever_ do what ye just did! Ye're not any different than a common murderer, Zevka?"

"Why the 'Gates are you so concerned with the moles? Do you remember what they did? They killed Poko's parents, and SO MANY other creatures! Your friend, Kent-"

Mentioning the late Yew Guard was a mistake. Nessa's eyes widened in fury, and her voice went up several decibels. "Don' ye even say his name, Zevka! He was a better beast than ye'll ever be! Gypsumfur didnae kill anybeast! HE. WAS. A. BABE!"

Zevka felt her own wave of rage bubble through her. "Well, then, maybe these things just need some _culling_ before they grow up enough to kill anybeast!" she shouted, much louder than she had intended.

There was a moment of silence as her words seemed to echo around them. Nessa looked at Zevka with a face full of disgust. Zevka prepared herself for more shouting.

But instead, Nessa just said "I'm jus' glad Mekad does nae have to see this. He'd be ashamed to know ye."

Zevka recoiled as though Nessa had punched her. "That's not true! I -he - we-he would-" Suddenly, Zevka's tongue felt like it wasn't working any more.

Nessa glared straight into Zevka's eyes. The marteness looked away.

"Didnae ye tell me once that what made ye be friends with him is that he was different from the other vermin at that academy o' yours? That he wasnae jus' looking to stab or throw away anybeast who would stop him from getting to to the top? That he was a beast who actually meant it when he was nice to ye? What would he think of ye now?"

The only response Zevka could think of was to just sit down in the snow.

_I will not cry in front of Nessa, I will not cry in front of Nessa, I will NOT cry in front of..."_ The tears welling up in Zevka's eyes had apparently not gotten the memo.

"Nessa...Oh Fates, Nessa, I don't even know if Mekad is still alive!" Zevka blurted out. "Oh, sure, he was alive when he wrote me that letter, but that was...that was weeks ago!" An icy claw of panic gripped her heart. "What if they made him write the letter and then they killed him? What will I do if he's dead, Nessa? I haven't seen my parents since I was a little older than Nyika - he's the only beast from my past that I have left!" The marteness couldn't seem to stop herself from talking now.

"They're all dead, everybeast else I knew back home at Bayguard!" The memories and the names flooded into Zevka's head. "There was Thetsa - biggest stoat jill I've ever seen, and a lot like you, Nessa. Fiery and passionate and loved being alive. She died fighting a badger. The last time I saw her, her...her face didn't even look like her any more! I only knew it was Thetsa because of her size and her armor. And Venib, the fox who worked in the kitchens. A laughing, happy prankster, always eating but still skinny as an arrow. He didn't know one end of a spear from the other, but as the woodlanders burst in, he tried to charge them. I don't think he ever laid a paw on anybeast before he got stabbed in the stomach." Zevka, tears streaming freely now, wanted to stop talking and stop remembering, but she just couldn't.

"Shaznya was the best swordsbeast I've ever known, and I've never doubted that he could have beaten the Red Warrior if he hadn't been shot by an arrow the first day and bled to death while I jammed my claw into his artery trying to stop the bleeding," she continued, voice heavy with bitterness."

"The...the Red Warrior? Zevka, ye don' mean..."

Zevka snarled openly through her tears. "Yes, I do mean it, Nessa! Redwall's famed warriors were the ones who destroyed my home and killed all my friends except for Mekad! And it didn't have to happen!"

Nessa's anger was being visibly diluted by confusion. "Redwall doesnae conquer anybeast without a reason, Zevka! They...they wouldnae! That's nae who they are!"

Zevka bristled. "Well, they DID do that, Nessa!" The marteness went quiet for a little bit. "You know...part of what kept me going down in the tunnels is this...idea, I guess, about you, me, Nyika, Poko and Mekad all making it back to Yew together, and all of us staying around each other. Nyika and Poko would have beasts who could help take care of them, you'd be renowned in the guard as the hero who survived the mountain disaster, and Mekad and I would have a real home again."

The marteness' eyes hardened, and her voice rose again. "I have to believe that we can have that. And if I could walk through those tunnels and cut the throat of every mole living there to save you and Nyika and Poko, I would!"

Nessa's face darkened again. "That doesnae-"

"And _by the way,_ Nessa, maybe you need to spend less time yelling at me and more at your superiors!" Zevka couldn't stop herself. She walked up to Nessa, reached into her tunic and pulled out the piece of parchment still stained with Gashrock's blood. "Because while we're out here freezing and dying and scared to death, they're laughing about how they sent us out here to die!"

Nessa growled at Zevka. "What bilge are ye slinging now, Zevka? They didnae-"

"Yes they DID, Nessa! This is the letter Gashrock died over. And I quote: 'Finish the job, then we'll talk of provisions.' Note the beautiful specimen of a Yew seal!"

The otter's face darkened, but she did not act nearly as surprised or even interested as Zevka had expected. "Wot's that? That's nae mah 'superiors', Zevka, that's the Yew seal. Ah dinnae care 'ow et got 'ere, yer jus tryin' tae mix things oop!"

Zevka blinked. "Nessa, you don't think this is pretty damn important?"

"Et's nae the point! Show et tae Noony, if ye have tae! Ah couldnae care less which traitor in Yew's tryin' tae get us killed, what Ah care aboot is ye!" Nessa's eyes narrowed. ""An' 'ow ye keep tryin' tae justify a babe's murder like some common horde vermin!"

Zevka snarled. "Some of the beasts I've loved most in this world have been 'common horde vermin!' You're sounding more and more like Istvan every minute!" Suddenly, the marten's ire vanished, replaced by sadness, her voice almost pleading. "Nessa...please. I don't want us to be angry at each other. I don't want to lose anybeast else."

"Ye already did. Yer no the beast Ah thought Ah knew, Zevka. Next time there's a fight, dinnae expect me tae watch yer back. Ye kin go tae Hellgates fer all Ah care."

Zevka held things together just long enough for the otter to retreat out of sight. And then Zevka Blackbriar just sat in the snow for a while, and cried over the fact that in trying to avoid losing one beast, she had lost another. The marteness didn't allow herself to grieve for long, however.

_Nessa or no Nessa, there's still Poko, Nyika, Mekad and me. I saved Poko, and I could never want to take that back. Not my fault that she can't see that._

It was a very long, very lonely walk back to the camp.

When she finally returned, Nyika made her way over to Zevka, with the marteness' sword in paw.

"Hey, Nyika?" The pine marten put a paw on the wildcat's shoulder. "Thanks for standing up for me. It...it meant a lot."

Nyika's eyes lit up, though she gave a sad smile. "You did what was necessary. It may not have been the best course of action, but I truly don't think he had been put in any danger. He didn't seek cover, and I noticed that gleeful look on his face during the attack. I think they're allies. The owl was protecting him, and it's not your fault if they can't see that. I had hoped…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "You dropped this." She handed Zevka the saber.

"Thank Vulpuz for you, Nyika," Zevka said, meaning it to the bottom of her heart. She made an effort to smile as she sheathed the sword.

"What did you say to Gypsumfur? He was rather upset after you left him."

"What? Oh...it doesn't matter, does it? He's gone now, safe, like you said." The marteness decided to change the subject. "Are you alright, Nyika? I mean, really alright, after having to -"

Zevka and Nyika broke off their conversation as a loud, dull rumbling suddenly arose. The pine marten swore.

"What the 'Gates is that supposed to be?"

"The moles are trying to get under us! Grab some supplies and RUN!" Istvan shouted. Everybeast scrambled to follow his advice, although Noonahootin seemed barely able to get moving in time. The rumbling followed them, and laden down as the group was, the moles seemed like they were able to keep pace.

The ground beneath Zevka's footpaws began to change. There was less and less snow, and the ground itself seemed softer. She didn't really notice, however, until the rumbling abruptly stopped, with no gradual tapering off before it completely ceased. Zevka kept running for just a bit before pausing to catch her breath. She half expected an assault to materialize at any moment, but as the minutes ticked on, she frowned in surprise.

"So...are they going to actually attack us?" Nyika asked the question on everybeast's mind.

"Could be trying to lull us into a false sense of security..." Zevka mused. "No, they wouldn't give up the element of surprise like that."

"Maybe they're just scared of these!" Poko piped in. The sprite walked over to a pair of tall structures composed primarily of the bones of many different species which had been laced together and stacked. In places, one could see where wood had been inserted to keep the bones together and upright, but otherwise, the two pillars appeared to consist of the remains of a great many unfortunate travelers.

Nyika gravitated towards the pillars, kneeling before them as she studied their designs. The rest looked upon her with apprehension. Finally Zevka spoke.

"What do you see?"

"Bones, constructed with intricacy and purpose."

"I mean do you see any … ghosts."

"Oh. Umm…" The wildcat hesitated. "Most beasts bring me letters and possessions to see if I can summon the spirits they belong to. Fools, really. There's nobeast I can call from inanimate objects like that."

"Yes, but these … are their bodies."

"Aye." Turning back to the bones, Nyika leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.

"This is a warning," she announced. "We should go no farther."

Zevka frowned. "Well, we certainly cannot go back! We don't have much choice but to press on. But you and Poko might be right. These do look like the kind of thing you would build as a warning to others."

"A warning about what? Some other tribe?" Istvan asked.

Zevka looked at the rather desolate landscape around them. "This doesn't seem like very good land to me. Nothing growing on it, no trees, no signs of anything useful. If I was somebeast capable of scaring the moles, I wouldn't settle for this dump."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Nyika said, pressing a paw against the sun-bleached bones. As soon as she had made a connection she drew back in alarm, her fur raising and her tail fluffing three times its size. "This land is evil. We should go back, to Yew."

"We can't go back," Zevka said. "Our destination lies in Carrigul."

"Please, Zevka." Nyika's eyes were wide, her pupils stretched to the edge of her irises. "Don't make us go."

"I _have_ to find Mekad," Zevka replied, in a tone that left no room for debate. "Don't forget why I came on this trip in the first place. Besides, as a practical matter, we really can't go back. The way we came is pretty thoroughly blocked."

Nyika hunched her shoulders and nodded. "I'm going to need more sage."

Zevka frowned thoughtfully. "Still, I do wonder what these things are supposed to be warning us about..."

Nobeast knew it, but the answer was all around them.


	38. Rattling Bones

**38. Rattling Bones**

_By: Noonahootin_

Miss Blackbriar had come crawling out carrying the limp rat, but Gashrock never took those steps to freedom herself.

He had lost another life. Dolefully, he allowed himself to be stared down by the empty sockets of the rat skull impacted into the top section of one of the bone pillars they had discovered. Hanging his head, the owl shuffled around, his stomach beginning to sicken as the sight of the sneering skull, reminding him that he had been useless to save her. Just as useless as he had been when the harfang had launched her latest efforts of violence.

_Damned harfang,_ he thought bitterly, preening at his shoulder harder than was necessary. The shoulder wound he had received during his first encounter with the white heathen had grown and stretched with each ensuing fight, and the blackening scabby flesh around the outer folds of skin had long since started to smell of almonds. The captain had grown so used to the smell that it hardly registered with him anymore, and such things made him nervous.

"I could use some of Missus Gashrock's sewing skills right about now," the old owl chided himself, giving up on cleaning the featherless patch. Sadly, he closed his eyes and instead tried to do the only thing that would be useful for him; rest his mind, and rest his body.

He crouched tenderly in the snow, shuffling himself about until the cold didn't sting so much. He eased his muscles, sinking into the few sticks of pine nettle he had managed to scrounge up, and his head nodded down.

Sleep came easily, washing over him the moment his eyes closed. In his sleep, he dreamed terrible nightmares of jeering rats and skeletal stoats that danced over a roasting, wingless bird. Behind them all, a shadowy figure laughed, horrid shrieking laughter. He heard noises; screeches and wails, cries for help, curses shouted without shame. Something smelt horrible, and the reek only served to further confuse him. The bird on the spit slowly turned into Gashrock, her body melting off her bones, and the forest floor turned to blackened glass. He spread his wings to save her, but the ground collapsed from underneath him and he fell, suddenly powerless to fly.

"Captain…"

"DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL! LET HER BE!"

"Captain!"

"DAMN YOU-Hrau?" The owl blinked blearily, his fatigued mind and body unable to catch up with what he was looking at. Snow was everywhere, and somewhere he sensed a presence watching him. He swiveled his head around to face forward, and the motion caused a lick of fiery pain to come over him. His throat ached something fierce, and he smelt something sickening right under his nose, the strong scent of rot causing his empty belly to heave.

"Captain, are you alright? You were dreaming, swearing in your sleep." The wildcat's face was open with concern and curiosity, her ears perked forward in the hopes that the owl might relay his nightmares to her.

"Yes, yes, of course..." the scout breathed, leaning to the side. He was trying not to breathe heavily as he panted through his parted beak, as drawing air through his nose proved far too unfavourable; he had finally admitted what the smell had been. ``Just a night terror, Miss Nyika, nothing…to fret about…"

The pain became unbearable and he felt himself fall forward with a grunt. It wasn't the worst around his still aching neck, but instead was stemming from the deep gouge in his shoulder. His first encounter with the harfang had been his fiercest, and the flaming pain an ever diligent reminder of his lost battle.

"Oh my! Are you alright?" the wildcat asked and went to help the scout up. However, when her paws absently brushed his wounded wing, the owl let out a strangled cry, scrambling to his feet in order to get away.

"That's not good," she said bluntly, and Noonahootin stooped and scooped a clump of snow up, packing it onto the festering wound.

"Hmph! Nonsense, it'll be fine. Nothing a dab of alcohol won't fix up," the owl insisted, but Nyika furrowed her brows and shook her head. Then, with barely any ounce of effort, she flicked his right shoulder close to his neck.

He hadn't meant to cuff her so hard, but the knee-jerk reaction had come too quickly for him to stop, and Nyika fell backwards with a loud crunching of snow. He folded his other wing quickly, apologizing as he offered her a claw to stand. The wildcat brushed herself off and idly licked a paw as though the whole incident had been planned.

"You must understand, it's quite tender. Fresh-like," Noonahootin explained.

"No, it's infected. Badly. I can smell it from here, and the snow compress is already turning yellow," she pressed on, making to touch him again. When the owl drew away, however, she retracted her paw. "It needs to be drained and properly bound, at the very least."

"I've been tending to it, Miss Nyika. It's simply raw from my most recent encounter with our harfang," Noonahootin answered briskly, then turned awkwardly in the snow as he shuffled around to face the direction of their camp.

"No. You didn't fight the white owl when she last attacked us," Nyika said, frowning deeply and tilting her chin down to give the old owl a surprisingly stern look. "You could hardly stand. You didn't fight, not one lick." It wasn't an accusation, as was clear in the wildcat's troubled tone, but Noonahootin looked away shamefully none the less, his eyes cast downwards as he feebly tried not to look towards the mysterious bone pillars.

Nyika's ears perked up, however, and Noonahootin was spared further humiliation when Nyika proclaimed she heard Zevka calling her. The owl gratefully began to sit down, but stopped when he noticed Nyika giving him a peculiar look.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Hmph." Grumbling, he slowly inched his way towards where he could see the others gathered, taking one tiny step at a time.

When the old bird finally joined his fellow survivors, he coughed loudly and gestured Zevka over to him with his good wing. She raised a brow, but obliged him and made her way past the others. Putting his good wing stiffly around the pine marten's shoulders, Noonahootin leaned down and lowered his usually passionate voice.

"Miss Blackbriar, I…wanted to…say" He struggled to speak, finding himself short on breath. "That nasty business with the…the molebabe, Gypsumfur…I say, I don't believe what you did…was very sporting, but…hold now, hear me out!" He panicked when Zevka began to roll her eyes and bared her teeth to respond. "It was _necessary_," he stated firmly to her, patting her shoulder with his pin feathers, "to save Miss Poko. Better them than us, as unsavoury…as it may be."

"Thank-you," the pine marten breathed, relieved. Her expression brightened when she realized she had at least one less enemy opinion to tangle with. "There was no time, and I'd much rather have Poko with us than a mouth to feed that's been trying to kill us!"

"I'm rather fond of little Poko since…since she sacrificed...her hat. Quite a clever young girl. Saved my life," Noonahootin said through a strained smile. "A mind for strategy, that one."

He gave the marten a nod, but Istvan cleared his throat behind them and the owl turned to face the Corporal. He was holding something that looked like a letter, his paw clenched around the folded up paper as though it might leap out and attack something.

"Gashrock found something in the tunnels," Zevka said gravely. "She was determined to get her paws on it, believing it to be vital to us somehow. The moles did her in for it, and I steadfastly believe Gashrock was on to something."

The reminder of Gashrock's death stung just as much as the pain in his shoulder. Noonahootin lowered his gaze for a moment, contemplating what could have been so important for Gashrock to lose her life pursuing. Istvan answered, passing the letter to his captain. Noting the seal of Yew excitedly, the owl unfolded the parchment stiffly with his talons. His eyes flew over the words of the correspondence:

**Finish the job. Then we'll talk of provisions.**

"What is this poppycock?" the captain grunted. The words suggested a trade of a distasteful nature. The Yew seal was out of place; was someone playing a cruel trick on them?

"It's the Yew seal, Captain," Zevka pointed out. "Someone's ordered our deaths."

"HA! From Yew? Nonsense!" Noonahootin barked, and then chuckled earnestly. "Someone's playing a joke on us, getting us all riled up using the Yew seal! It's a fair plagiarism, hmph, I'll give them that, but this letter can't possibly be taken seriously."

"Captain, I recognize the writing," Istvan stepped forward, his voice level as always. "I don't know from where I've seen it, but I am certain I have seen this paw-writing before."

"Aye, me too," Guardsbeast Fern drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seen et somewhere, Ah'm sure. Ah feel like we should all know this writing."

"The letters are well practiced and are flourished. Somebeast who thinks they're very important wrote this," Zevka said thoughtfully, squinting at the letter in Noonahootin's talons. "An officer, perhaps. A spy for Carrigul?"

"It's a joke!" Noonahootin snapped, folding the letter back up and shoving it angrily in a pocket of his poncho. Anger was flushing his face red beneath his feathers. "Nothing more! There's nobeast but moles and a very angry snowy owl trying to kill us!"

"Captain, we must consider the possibility of a spy in Yew," Zevka said levelly.

"Our spies would have caught this before!" Noonahootin insisted, his voice raising a pitch.

"Weel, Aster did send us oot in a rush, an' reet before the stormin' seasons, tae." Vanessa pondered out loud.

"What are you implying, Guardsbeast?" he growled, eyes narrowing. "That Lord Aster himself bothered sending a caravan to Carrigul only to kill us? He arranged for the Dewhurst players to accompany us so that the Yew Guard might learn more of Carrigul's inner workings and road-systems. He found merchants willing to volunteer to go to Carrigul under our protection so that the caravan seemed legitimate to outsiders. He had planned this expedition for months alongside myself, Captain Flax, and three other officers, all of whom were lost in the mountain slide! This letter has you questioning whether _Lord Aster_, who was captured, tortured, and crippled by the beasts of Carrigul, is loyal to his own Yew Guards and those he _asked_ to come under the protection of the Blue Cloaks? _I personally trained Lord Aster in flight battle techniques before they crippled him,_" the owl spat out, personally offended by the dissent of Guardsbeast Fern and Corporal Istvan. Of all beasts present, they should have known better; to accuse Aster of treason was unthinkable. Aster would never have betrayed the Blue Cloaks, staunchly believing in the necessity of the Guard since Lord Cedar's passing and his own horrid experiences in the clutches of Carrigul.

Vanessa leaned back, putting her paws up defensively.

"Nae, nae, nae, Capn'! Ah'm no sayin' anythin' aboot the auld featherbag, he takes himself far tae seriously tae play this kind o' trick. But ye know 'ow et is at Yew- twould take just a single greedy slimegob tae slip this under Aster's beak an' presto! We're stuck in a wasteland with a gang o' hired gaboons paid tae make sure we ne'er get oot alive."

"It would have to be somebeast very close to your Aster, trusted enough to use the Yew Seal and know the details of the mission," Zevka said with a nod to Vanessa's reasoning.

"Outrageous! One letter has you all scrambling at a conspiracy!" the owl cried, fuming angrily. "I've been with the Yew Guard since I left my parents' nest, and never have I seen its integrity compromised! Not under Lord Cedar, not under Lord Aster, not from any officer or Guardsbeast! This is a note to deliberately confuse us and waste time and resources!"

"I can understand why you'd want to believe otherwise, Captain," Zevka said, trying to soothe Noonahootin's obvious distress. "But we _must_ look to reason here. Somebeast sent this letter, and even if it is a forgery, that means somebeast has seen a Yew seal to copy. Somebeast had an education to teach them such fancy lettering. Somebeast had inside information and knew where we would be, and they were willing to sell us out in order to get something. It has to be an officer within Yew, Noonahootin."

The owl ground his beak, his eyes twitching as he bobbed his head up and down, struggling to find a quick way to explain away the conspiracy against them. He had been a proud member of the Yew Guard for decades. He screeched, stomping his talons and cursing. "It can't be! I don't believe it! It just _can't_ be"

Zevka sighed resignedly, but didn't seemed ultimately phased by the old owl's stubbornness. "Never the less, we must consider it as a possibility. The Yew Gaurd _is_ compromised, Captain. I propose we all head to Carrigul, as previously planned. I can find out what happened to Mekad and you can find out what's going on at Yew." The marten's face grew grave as she suddenly leered over her shoulder suspiciously. "Besides, the moles haven't followed us past the bone pillars. The ground stopped shaking _immediately_ when we crossed the threshold of terrain. We're safe from them here."

"You go ahead and do that, then," Noonahootin said scornfully, "_I'll_ continue to have faith in the Blue Cloaks. I didn't waste my life furthering the cause for one letter to come along and destroy everything I've worked for. Everything the _Yew Guard_ has worked for!" The owl went to spread his wings, but hissed and balked instead, stumbling back.

"Captain," Istvan spoke whilst stepping forward, his brow creased ever so slightly in a frown. The owl turned away quickly to hide the pained look on his face.

Vanessa stood up straight, her voice ringing out confidently. "Cap'n, Ah say we go on tae this vermin settlement. There wouldnae be any honor in turnin' back noo would there? We'll be doin' everybeast in Yew a favour bah findin' oot more aboot this letter and aboot Carrigul too!"

"Fine," Noonahootin snapped, though he couldn't help but notice Vanessa beam at his approval. He calmed his tone, sighing with the stress. "We shall go to Carrigul. Miss Blackbriar can find her brethren and we shall complete the mission. Disgusted as I am to say this, but we might have better luck spying on the scallywags with a...erm, smaller party. Hmph." Tiredly, the owl began to make his way back to his makeshift nest on the ground, but found his path was blocked.

"Ultimately, our path doesn't matter. Death will claim us one by one until there's no one left." Nyika was suddenly right in front of him, her delicate footpaws keeping her silent in the snow. "And what about your wing? You won't survive the way there if you let it fester any more! The curse will follow us to Carrigul and it will surely have an easier way to you through your infection!"

"Ouf, curse this, curse that, curse, curse, curse!" Poko, too, had joined in, lonely on the outside of the impromptu council. "Nobody believes in your stupid curse. Mister Noonahootin's wing is hurt; just mind _that_!"

"This isn't for your ears, kit. Be useful and find us some food," Greenfleck intervened, his tone one of forced nicety.

"She fought off the harfang! If the girl wants to talk, then we will listen," Noonahooten stated matter-of-factually. He had grown rather fond of the little ferret since her cleverness had saved not only herself, but his own life. Mere hours ago, he had been worried if she could climb a tree, only to find her ingenuity had grounded a fierce bird of prey.

"We each cheated death when the road collapsed," Nyika pressed on, "And now it's coming for us. First Risk and now Gashrock. A debt must be paid, and we've only just begun. If we don't do something _now_, Captain, you're going to be next."

"I did not cheat any reaper," Noonahootin said delicately, sinking down to settle as comfortably as he could in the snow. Sad thoughts towards their departed was not what the party needed right then. "I was merely flying. No god of death can expect me to owe him anything when he served me nothing. If my feet had been on the ground with the rest of those poor souls, than perhaps, but it didn't happen that way."

"No," Nyika mused. "Perhaps there is another plan for you yet..." Snapping out of her reverie, she pressed him further. "I could burn sage for you," Nyika insisted, digging through her pockets just as she had before. "Keep the evil spirits at bay! I could bless you-"

"Now see here," Istvan stepped forward, but Noonahootin raised his good wing and shook his head.

"If it makes you feel more confident in our luck," Noonahootin said quietly, looking at Nyika with warm amber eyes, "Than I will allow you to burn your sage. Skies above, it does smell something awful."

"You really must be doing poorly to give in to superstition that easily. I thought you gave in too easily arguing with me, as well," Zevka said, squinting at the owl and pinching her chin between her claws. "I've read books on healing. I can help you, you know."

"I don't need any help. A bird knows how to take care of his own wing," Noonahootin puffed up proudly then, folding his good wing against his back. His right, however, only came up half way before he found it locked with stiffness.

Heat surging through his shoulder, the owl brushed off the ball of yellow and red snow and replaced it, scooping up fresh, cold snow to pack onto the aching sore. Even Greenfleck took a second glance when the wound became fully exposed.

"Chop it off," Greenfleck said frankly. "It's easier. The infection can't spread if there's nothing to spread to."

Noonahootin laughed then, his entire body shaking with the force of his guttural guffaw. "A bird who can't fly? Useless! I'd be utterly useless! Die of misery before the blood loss got me!"

"An otter that can't swim is still alive," Istvan said sagely. The otter unsheathed his dagger and presented it to the owl captain. "I would be pleased to assist, Captain. I, myself, would do the deed."

"Now, now," Zevka intervened. "There's no need to get hasty. If we cut out the infection, it would work just as well. He might lose some mobility in the wing, but he'd still have it."

"An' be like Aster would, aye," Vanessa said with a roll of her eyes. Their crippled lord once again in their minds, the Yew Guards became eerily silent.

"I...I know some plants..." Nyika said timidly. "If we boil water, clean Istvan's knife and the Captain's wound...I mean, if somebeast had to cut him open, I know some plants that help with the pain and the healing."

"How come this knowledge never surfaced before, child?" Noonahootin asked, bobbing his head at the wildcat. Such information would have helped even before the party had left Yew, for even _knowing_ a beast had healing skills would have comforted and boosted the morale of the caravan.

"Well, I haven't ... done much ... since ... Vera," Nyika, said, shuffling her footpaws in an embarrassed manner. "And ... I'm not very knowledgeable, actually. I was hoping I could pick up on my lessons once we got back."

"Excellent!" Zevka positively beamed. "With my know-how and Nyika's herbs, we might have you back in the air in no time."

"Far better than dying on the ground! I mean, for a bird," Poko chirruped, pleased that the captain was to receive proper help.

"Nyika, build us a fire and boil some water, please. Poko, go help her. We'll use Gashrock's silks to bind your wing," Zevka took charge, and began to list out the things she'd need to operate.

"I have not agreed to any of this," Noonahootin grumbled unhappily, although the stiffness in his neck was more than enough to coax him to see reason. If they didn't deal with his wound now, there might not be another chance.

_I'll be damned rather than let them take my wing,_ Noonahootin thought bitterly. _I'd rather be dead._

Poko had made a bed of soft green nettles, bark, and what little dirt could be dug up from the frozen ground. The bark splintered and dug into his belly, but Noonahootin thanked the ferret none the less.

"You'd make a fine bird, Miss Poko. A kite or a harrier, perhaps, with such fine nest-building skills." He could see her trembling beneath her cloak and when he rested down onto the 'nest' he was sure to snuggle right down, humming and nodding in comfort to ease her excitement and anxiety.

"Ah yes. This will do quite finely."

The ferret beamed, happy to be of use once again. She sat with him while Zevka cut up strips of the silk with her sabre and Istvan boiled his knife alongside Nyika's herbs. She frowned at him for sullying her herbs.

"Mister Noonahootin, are you going to be alright? If we don't have you, the others proved they can't fight off the other owl properly."

"Ah, Miss Poko, fear not!" Noonahootin stuck his chest out, lifting his chin proudly. "I doused the wound with alcohol since I received it. It can't be too garish yet; just needs a quick trim. Blackbriar is a clever girl, she's read all the books. Istvan is...precise with a knife. His paw is steady; he won't slip."

Istvan was frighteningly good with a knife. Noonahootin had seen firsthand what the otter had done one night when two child-murdering brigands had been condemned to the dungeons of Yew. At least the otter had possessed the good sense to bandage them up when he had finished.

Shelving the memory into the back of his mind, the owl let Poko brush the snow from his shoulder and press a boiled scrap of cloth onto the sizable lesion. She gave him a quick kiss on his slashed cheek, which had been healing much more efficiently.

"That's what my mati would do when I was little and bruised my knee," Poko said quietly, her eyes downcast. Noonahootin drew her in close, clicking his tongue as he gently cooed to her.

"Thank-you, sweet girl. I feel better already."

They stayed like that until the cloth had cooled and begun sticking to the red flesh. Poko peeled it back slowly, nervous to hurt the owl.

"Quick-like, now. Get it over it," Noonahootin insisted, and she obliged him. He winced, swallowing back a yelp. Instead, he distracted himself with a story.

"When my children were all owlets, no bigger than the twigs they nested in, I'd tell them tales about great battles," Noonahootin began idly as Poko rinsed the cloth in warm water. "My young son, Cleite, was always fascinated by these stories, but not for the glory and the violence like his brother was. No, Cleite always wanted to know what went on behind the front lines, in the officers' tents. He wanted to know the strategies and the plots. He always had to know the why and the how."

"I bet he'd know how to help you now," Poko suggested as she once again pressed the warm cloth onto his shoulder, rubbing gently at the black, dried scabbing that had formed around the edges of the deep gouge.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. He always had a scholar's heart, that one." The owl closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply and letting his breathe out in one lone exhale as he fought the urge to yelp. "My youngest, Wyoot, she never had any interest in any battles. No, for her it was always about her beauty; she knew how to get her way with the creatures of the forest. Great political mind, that one."

"You have a daughter?" Poko asked curiously, her attention teased.

"I have two daughters," the owl said fondly. "My second child, Venia, and her younger sister Wyoot. Wyoot was born blessed, you see, destined for great things. Her feathers are white as a full moon on a black sky, her eyes as red as rubies."

"You old fibber," Poko giggled, swatting at the owl's mustache. "Your kind aren't white!"

"Nor do we have pink beaks, but my daughter does," Noonahootin chuckled. "It happens. It's incredibly rare, mind you, but when the Great Golden Eagle of the Sun and the Great White Owl of the Moon cease their eternal war, a child is hatched that is most special."

The ferret was giving him a look through her scrunched up eyes, unable to tell if he was teasing her or not.

"Those are the gods my family has followed for generations," he offered. "Gave up on them myself, decades ago. We're all a bag of bones in the end, so what's the use of arguing who's right and who's wrong."

"What about Istvan, then? What about the All-Mother?"

"Ah, yes, well...Istvan has his religion. Rather, he _is_ his religion. I'm not. That's all there is to it, young miss. We each choose for ourselves."

"Why are you telling me this?" Poko's voice had cracked as though she had been about to yawn, but Noonahootin felt her form, pressed against him, shaking violently.

"I'm telling you this because I want you to take comfort," the owl said slowly. "It doesn't matter where we go, or if we go anywhere at all. If there is an afterlife, it must be wonderful, full of the family and friends that left before us. We simply must make the best of our lives while we still have them to live." He removed his wing from around the young ferret maid, tilting her chin up to meet him. Her eyes, full of tears, looked right into his without hesitation and the owl felt a deep shiver of respect go through him.

"Do not worry for me, Poko. I have no regrets. I've lived my life as best as I could, and how I wanted. The day I fly to the Great Tree, or walk through the Dark Forest, or meet the All-Mother, I will do so with my head held high. Not like that harfang, eh? She'll still be sore about being defeated by a hat!"

The maid smiled at long last, but her expression very quickly turned back into one of anxiety.

"We're ready."

Owl and ferret turned their heads to Nyika, who stood with a pawful of sagging, soggy herbs that hung like limp string between her claws; in her other paw, a stock of dried sage leaves were smoking. Behind the wildcat, Istvan and Zevka stood in wait. Noonahootin gave a wink to Poko, and reached down to his poncho with his beak. A quick nip and a tug released the silver, yew leaf-shaped pin that officers of the Yew Guard wore. He placed it in Poko's paw, and she clutched it to her chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world to her.

"Keep the fire burning, m'gal. I'll want some tea when this business is done!"

The owl settled down into his nest, and slowly, _very_ slowly, extended his wing out as fully as he could.

"I said a prayer to the All-Mother," Istvan told the captain.

"I'll begin mine," Nyika countered, and draped the herbs down over the lip of the sole pot Risk had rescued from the landslide. Carefully, she picked several leaves from the stems, and positioned them over Noonahootin's wound, offering him one to chew on. The owl obliged, and opened his beak for the cat. She popped a leaf inside.

"Bitter," he grumbled, smiling at her good intentions despite himself.

Nyika began to hum, her footpaws suddenly striking through the snow to reposition themselves, her legs crossed. She turned slowly, bringing the arm which held the sage down across her form in a wide circle. She turned around and danced in a practiced pattern, her paws carrying her with a grace the group had not seen before. Even Poko's eyes were trained onto her rival's form as the wildcat bent and bowed at angles unknown. Somewhere, Vanessa was beating her tail against a tree, keeping rhythm with the wildcat's dance. Nyika waved the sage in long strokes over Noonahootin's body, her song taking on words as she stretched out over the owl's unfurled wing. Her dislocated arm tucked against her tightly within its sling, the wildcat waved the smoking herbs in arcs that snaked through the air, leaving behind a ghostly silver trail, her eerie singing sending shivers down the spines of her observers.

At last, her dance ended, and Nyika stood silently with her eyes closed, her breath misting out before her. She barely moved, as though in a trance, save for her lips that formed silent words. When at last her eyes opened, she placed the two pawfuls of burning sage on either side of Noonahootin's nest.

"Alright then," Zevka stated flatly. "Let's begin."

The pine marten removed the boiled herbs from Noonahootin's shoulder, giving them back to the wildcat who added them to the others on the pot's rim. The water had taken on a greenish tint, which Noonahootin caught himself eyeing warily.

"It's clean. Nyika says it'll help stave off infection once we cut what's in you out," Zevka explained. "Istvan agreed, so I think it's alright."

"Ah, well, if Istvan agrees," Noonahootin wheezed, eyeing the tattooed otter knowingly. The priest shrugged, stepping forward with his knife raised. Behind him, the fire roared as Poko obediently dumped more wood into the flames. It's light was blaring as the sun threatened to retire and each of the gathered beasts were sweating.

"We need to cut it open a little bit, to drain it," Zevka instructed.

The first cut made was startling, and Noonahootin jolted involuntarily. Istvan patiently waited for his superior officer to readjust and brace himself, and began again. The flesh was an angry red, sticky yellow pus crusting in each nook and cranny. His blade sharp, the otter barely had to add any pressure to lacerate the wound at the edges.

"Right. Now we let it drain," Zevak said confidently.

They watched the wound expectantly. Slowly, striped paws crept in and added a touch of pressure to the sides of the wound, and violently suppurated the expected ooze. It was a dirty yellow, with a hint of green, and the smell made Zevka backpedal and gag.

"Aug, oh, core, that's...right..." the pine marten drew her raggedy sleeve up across her nose, wincing when her eyes were drawn hypnotically back to the injury. "So, uhm, Poko, where's that rag? Right, thanks. Uhm, Nyika, wipe that..._that_ and we'll get going."

It took three good squeezes before Zevka retched into the bushes, and at long last all the pus that Nyika could squeeze was drained. The wildcat poured warm water over the wound, dabbed it dry with a scrap of cloth, and moved aside as Zevka and Istvan brought their faces in close to inspect their handiwork.

"There," Zevka stated.

"Where?" Istvan asked, looking closer as though some great truth eluded him.

"There," the marten said again with a hint of annoyance. In the deepest part. It's green. It gets really, really red, and then there's this sort of speckled green tint, see? Where those white splotches are?"

"Oh yes," Istvan said, squinting and nodding as his eyes focused on the curious formation of colour.

"We need to cut the green bit out. _That's_ the infection. That will spread into the rest of him, and rot him out. If it gets into his blood, it'll kill him quicker than you."

"That's not very nice," Noonahootin chided, smirking playfully from where his head rested. He chomped up the leaf a little bit more, greenish brown mush oozing from the corner of his beak.

"You'll have to widen the inside of the wound to get at it, though. From the looks of it, I mean." Zevka hastily explained: "You can't just go digging in with the tip of your knife; you'll cut up all the savable flesh and...well, that'd be bad."

"There's quite a few feathers in way," Istvan remarked. "I can't see properly."

"Why didn't you say that before?" Zevka snapped. "How can you see the infection if there's feathers in the way?"

Once again, silent paws snuck in between the two makeshift surgeons, and feline claws snipped and pulled where red stained feathers edged their way into the borders of the wound. Then, as silently as they had come, the paws were gone.

"Just trim the feathers, then," Zevka said. Istvan turned to look back at his work, but paused. A beat. Slyly, he cut a single feather by the stem, and turned to Zevka, ignoring Noonahootin's hoot of amusement.

"What now?"

"Widen the wound from the inside. Uhm...there." Leaning forward and standing on tip-paw, Zevka pointed to a spot near the greener flesh. "We shouldn't cut right into the green, that'll just spread the infection around the whole wound. It's got to be precisely were the green turns into red. It's hard to see, because the flesh is so dark, but you need to be exact. You have to make it deep, too, so we can separate the fold sideways. I don't know how deep, though," she admitted. "I think the book just assumed I'd be a trained doctor."

A torch appeared above Istvan's head. Vanessa gave the other otter a meaningful look. "Just makin' sure ye dinnae get carried away," she said.

Istvan slowly moved his knife into the depths on the gouge, carefully placing the tip onto the place he figured Zevka had pointed at.

"No, no, too far in!" the marten cried, waving her paws. "Up a bit, _up a bit!_"

"Brace yourself, Captain," Istvan said, glowering.

"Aye, aye," Noonahootin answered, and did as he was told.

_Never mind dying of infection,_ the owl thought, not nearly as worried as he knew he should be. _They'll kill me with their arguing!_ It was funnier than he knew it really was, and so the owl contented himself with staring straight ahead and trying to focus on the bark patterns of the birch trees.

Searing, hot pain flooded Noonahootin's senses, and he jerked back. Istvan gave a strained cry of protest while Zevka shrieked for him to keep still. Vanessa shoved the torch into Greenfleck's paws and threw herself on top of the owl, strong arms and heavy rudder pinning his body. Nyika jumped and she, too, held him down by the wing.

"I cut him in the wrong place when he moved," Istvan confessed. "Should I try again?"

"Yes, yes, of course! No, wait!" Zevka wrung her paws, then grabbed the torch from a bemused looking toad. She lifted the light over the wound, and saw that Istvan had nicked the flesh higher than she had instructed him to. "It'll have to do. Cut the same spot, but make it longer, and then do the same cut on the other side." Istvan gave her a questioning look and she threw her paws into the air defensively. "The books I read on surgery were all written for someone taking a class on it, but this is emergency surgery in the woods!"

Istvan took a breath and dug the blade in where it had left off. Beneath him, the owl shuddered and clenched his beak. The otter worked fast, driven on by his captain's pain and the desire to get it done quickly.

"Good," Zevka said, "Now the next cut."

Pus mixed with blood erupted from the second cut, and Zevka gagged again as a heavy smell struck her nose. "Too deep," she reprimanded, and stepped back. Nyika was right there to take her place, sopping up the oozing mix with one rag, and then dribbling hot water over the sliced flesh and drying it as best she could with another.

"Alright. Now, we...we have to pull it apart a bit so we can cut into...cut into it and cut the infected flesh out." Zevka was practically choking her words out, but still found it within herself to step back into position.

"Should I cut directly down into it, or angle my blade?" Istvan asked while Nyika, as gently as she could, tried to pull the wound wider.

"It's not...it's not enough," the wildcat said quietly, her heart beating a mile a minute.

"Angle it; the book said to slice like you're cutting butter, not bread," Zevka answered with a croak.

Istvan nodded, and once again delicately plunged his blade down into the gouge, cutting along the edges of the green innards.

"STOP! BELAY! CEASE! CEASECEASECEASECEASE!" Noonahootin shrieked, practically standing up with the force of his recoil. Vanessa slammed her tail between his shoulders, and the owl went down hard, writhing from the added bruise.

"Hang on, Cap'n!" Vanessa roared far too excitedly, her eyes wide as she strove to to hold his body still.

"It's not wide enough!" Nyika repeated, and grabbed Istvan by the lapel so that this time he _heard_ her.

"She says it's not wide enough," Istvan re-laid the message to Zevka. The pine marten scoffed

"Well we can't keep cutting him up!"

"She says we can't keep cutting him up," Istvan told Nyika, his eyes wide with the shock of hearing Noonahootin's desperate orders.

"Tell her, oh, never mind! Make the cuts deeper then!"

Istvan went to move his knife, but Nyika stopped his paw with her own.

"No, those were bad. Make new cuts deeper in."

"Deeper?" Zevka echoed incredulously. "New cuts? We'll nick an artery and loose him!"

"Not if you tell me exactly where to cut," Istvan stated firmly, his eyes narrowed as he watched the wound with deep suspicion. The pine marten fretted for a moment longer, but like diving into cold water, she collected herself with a few deep breaths and stepped forward again.

"The books were on _mustelid_ anatomy, not _bird!_ ARRGH! _Oh_, uhm…See those thin blue lines? Nick those, and it's over. Don't touch them. Don't go near them. Don't even think about them. Right beside them, and into the green. Two more cuts, Istvan, and we pull it open and cut out the evil spirits."

"Should have told me about those earlier," Istvan sulked, and moved his knife as he was bid. He sliced through the muscle lightly, and before he even began to register how deep his blade was in, green pus erupted like water breaking through a damn, and with it, red began to flow freely. Swallowing the bile back down, Istvan hastily deepened the cut and made its parallel twin, and then very quickly stepped back and heaved. Zevka was right behind him.

While his surgeons dealt with their stomachs, Noonahootin ground his beak as hard as he could, determined not to move about and worsen his situation. He trembled, his whole body on fire with slicing pain. Beside the actual flames, in the single pot Gashrock had rescued from the landslide, was the bubbling, boiling water. Nyika had been throwing in pawfuls of snow every few seconds to keep the water from boiling away, or to cool it down appropriately. Her surprisingly skilled movements had fascinated the owl as he sought out something to distract his mind. The herbs, which had made his tongue go numb, had worn off but he refused to ask for more, knowing full well that he'd want the pain killing herbs when the surgery was finished.

_If I survive that long. Maybe it's not worth waiting; why die in pain, eh, old boy?_

Poko must have read the resigned look on his face, for she suddenly dropped the kindling she had been collecting and rushed to his side, stroking his cheek and telling him to be strong, _be strong_. The owl swallowed, and tried his damnedest to heed her words.

"Good," Zevka was saying somewhere above him. "Now...pull it apart again, this time a little bit deeper in, along where the botched cuts were made."

It felt as though someone had smashed his bones with a mallet; the owl gave a keening, primal screech and buckled underneath Vanessa's weight. The smell was haunting him, and not being able to see exactly what Istvan was doing was only serving to enhance every single movement the knife inside of him made, from the deliberate slicing of his flesh to every nervous twitch.

"Hurry!" Zevka cried as Nyika determinedly squeezed at the wound until she was satisfied the pus had all been drained out. She claws made tiny indents in his skin, and the owl was struck with terror as he imagined a thousand ants crawling inside of him alongside wriggling maggots and fat black beetles. He screeched again, flapping his free wing once and blowing snow in every direction.

"Easy on!" Vanessa slammed her tail into his back again, but the owl was struggling too much, too determined to free himself from the awful pain.

_Just let it take me, then!_ he begged, kicking and slamming his head down over and over as he tried to do something, _anything_ to not think.

"_Please_, Mister Noonahootin!" Poko begged him, trying to hold down his freed wing. He clacked his beak, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with weakness, and settled back down, unmoving.

_Stiff upper lip, old boy, stiff upper lip..._ he tried telling himself, repeating the mantra in his mind but the thoughts crumbled away as Istvan once again began cutting. The owl remained still.

"Angle the blade more!" Zevka barked. "Nyika, get Gashrock's thread ready, we'll stitch him up as soon as we can!"

Istvan was chuffing as the realization of the eerily inert owl under his knife fully struck him. His paws covered in red blood, he dug his blade underneath and around the green flesh, gouging it out as smoothly as he could with the tip of his knife. When at last he felt the muscle disconnect, he peeled it back and, as though it would infect him, skewered the stringy bit and flung it into the fire.

"Make sure you got it all; one book spent an entire chapter detailing what happens when something is left behind in surgery," Zevka reminded the otter, and the knife was back, slicing and carving away while Nyika dabbed and wrung hot water over the wound. The wildcat went through one, then two, and then a third clothe, finally electing to bunch them all up together and press hard on the wound.

Noonahootin moved again, weakly lifting his head before letting it fall back down. He couldn't see straight. What was happening? Words didn't make it across his tongue; they petered out before his mind could even finish finding them.

"It won't stop bleeding," Nyika declared, her voice a pitch higher than what was normal.

"Would this help?" Poko gripped Noonahootin's pin between the folds of her cloak; it was glaring white, and the sight of it made Zevka gulp.

"I forgot to put a knife in the fire to cauterize him," the marten moaned. Not one to lose hope, Istvan whipped his overcoat off and bunched it up. Carefully, he took the heated pin from Poko's paw in the swath of fabric. Dark blood was gurgling up from the space where the infected flesh had been, and without even a blink, Istvan pressed the pin into Noonahootin's flesh.

Suddenly, Noonahootin looked up, eyes wider than saucers.

"SKIESABOVEITBURNSITBURNSITBURNSITBURNSIT..." A pause. "ISMELLDELICIOUS!"

His head hit the ground with a pathetic thump, pillowed by the nettles and rotted bark. Sweating profusely even as Istvan pulled the pin out and Nyika finished threading a needle, the owl shuddered and wondered just how many of those herbs the wildcat had prepared.

_Thank-you, Gashrock,_ was the final thought he had as unconsciousness began to embrace him and his eyes drifted partially closed. When the darkness came, the last sight he had was of Gashrock's needle making its way towards his wing.


	39. Glass Eye

**39. Glass Eye**

_By: Istvan_

Istvan hated winter; aside from the perpetual cold that seeped into his bones, the season imposed far more duties on the priest. So much life had to be returned, and he knew that for all his efforts the balance would never be equaled. The only satisfaction that he could look forward to was his own imminent ultimate contribution to the great cycle of life.

But the love of the All-Mother ensured that even in such trying times there were blessings. Today he had returned the corrupted blood of many sinners to her, and her grace had given Istvan the opportunity to purify one whose sins did not yet merit the ultimate punishment.

The otter stood watching Nyika work, his paws dripping with the blood of his superior officer. She bound Captain Noonahootin's wound with quiet skill, applying a poultice and wrapping a bandage tightly around the wing using her good paw and teeth. Finding those medical supplies down in the tunnel had been another blessing. Obviously the Mother had plans for the Captain yet.

"All right, I've done all I can," said the wildcat. "He's a fighter. I think he's going to pull through."

The rest of the group let out a ragged cheer. Poko and Vanessa embraced, Zevka smiled, and even Greenfleck seemed pleased. Istvan walked over to examine the owl, who appeared to have passed out. Whether from exhaustion or pain he knew not, but at least it would help him heal. The bandage was quite good quality, one of those that would have been reserved for officers back in Yew. How the moles had gotten their paws on it, he could not imagine.

"Very impressive work, Mistress of Spirits. I have no doubt that your efforts have ensured his survival."

Nyika looked askance at him.

"Don't call me that. And there's no way for me to guarantee his survival. I am no Mistress of Healing, either. It's still possible that we will end up with another haunt following us, in spite of my efforts. Or because of them. It wouldn't be the first time..." She glanced off to the side. "Oh hush. You liked him."

"Don't speak of such things. You are the All-Mother's great gift to all of us. If anybeast can save him, it is you."

She stared at him again, with those large eyes that he found so disconcerting. He tried to avoid looking directly into them, and realized that the wildcat's face was still covered in dirt and Risk's internal liquids.

"Hold still," he commanded. Istvan took a spare bandage from the pile of supplies, spat on it, and rubbed it across Nyika's face, ignoring her mews of distress. Only when he was satisfied with the state of her fur did he drop the now-soiled cloth on the ground. The cat shuffled her feet and ran a paw across the newly cleaned area.

"I didn't really ask for that, but thank you."

"You're welcome. Is there anything more I can do to assist your ministrations?"

She shrugged. "No, not at the moment. I don't want to wake him up right now, but we don't know if the moles are going to come back."

"This area appears to be under the All-Mother's protection. I do not think we have anything to fear for the time being."

"You say that, but this group has been cursed from the outset. The landslide, the moles, the owl, that dead expedition, Risk and Gashrock dying... it all adds up."

"The Mother is far more powerful than any curse. With her aid, we will prevail against the forces which seek our demise."

"I hope you're right about that, Istvan. I really do."

The others had by then vacated the area around Noonahootin. Istvan noticed Vanessa rummaging through the supplies rescued from the old camp; as long as she was taking inventory and not searching for alcohol, that was probably the most productive thing that could be done at the moment. It did, however, leave the other conscious Yew Guard with nothing to occupy his time.

So Istvan contemplated the crimson stain soaking into the snow under his feet. It was good that he had finally had the opportunity to return Noonahootin's blood to the Mother; the owl was indeed a fighter, with many sins that he spoke of casually. As if wanton killing for nothing more than some other beast's whim was something to be proud of. Death should come only after the Mother's judgment, not that of some poor peasant handed a spear and told to stab the beasts wearing a different uniform or of a different species. Life was far too precious a gift to be thrown away so flippantly.

Which reminded him, he needed to make amends with Zevka. While the thought of her heartless decision during the snowy owl's attack still made his blood boil, she had already received enough of a tongue-lashing from him and Guardsbeast Vanessa, and had been visibly upset by it. She seemed to be feeling enough guilt right now that he did not need to pile on more by explaining to her the laws of the All-Mother regarding the treatment of kits. There was something else that she needed to hear.

The pine marten in question was sitting on a rock a little ways from the owl, not far from one of those bone towers. Istvan didn't like the bone towers. They loomed over the landscape like some omen of imminent death, mocking their sorrow for Risk and Gashrock with the promise that the group would shrink even further. As the Captain's survival, and indeed the group's original salvation from the landslide, proved, this was not the will of the All-Mother.

"Zevka?"

"Oh, hello Istvan. I was going to wait until Noonahootin woke up to question him further about the letter, if that's what you're here for."

The otter waved a paw. "No, no. That is not what I wish to speak to you about. I would like to tell you a story."

"Is this really the time?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. She was probably considering moving him back into the category of "crazy."

"We have nothing to do until Noonahootin returns to us, you said so yourself. And I believe that you need to hear this."

The marten didn't respond, so Istvan took a deep breath and prepared himself. It was not an easy thing, even after sixteen seasons.

"You by now know of the All-Mother, but have you ever considered that for there to be a Mother there must also be a Father?"

"Not really. Nothing else about your religion follows normal logic."

"That was a rhetorical question. In the beginning, there were two: the Mother and the Father, and they were happy. They brought us, their children, into the world, and loved us just as we loved them. However, the Father fell ill, and he surrendered his spirit unto the bosom of his loving wife, because he knew that he would enjoy eternal happiness there."

"Wait, the Father died? I thought he was a god," interrupted Zevka.

"Nothing in the universe is immune from pain. Always remember that. Now, the Mother knew that for her children there must be both a Mother and a Father, so she used the same abilities that had formed the world to make a replacement for her mate. But she tried to make an exact copy, and as you well know once a beast has died they can never truly return. So what she created was a twisted parody of the original Father, with all his virtues turned to vices. A truly horrible beast, who filled his blood with poison and his lips with insults. He raised his paws against the children of the All-Mother in anger, even daring to strike her. Once night he broke glass over her face, spilling her sacred blood and turning her beautiful visage thereafter to a horrible mess of scars, while her children looked on. Not a beast among them could truly say whether they were unable to help, or unwilling."

_Glass?_ Zevka mouthed silently. She frowned for a moment, then looked Istvan straight in the eye, comprehension dawning on her.

He sighed, ran a paw across his face and sat down next to the pine marten. After a moment, he continued, "The Mother soon could not take any more of this, and announced to her children that she had to leave them for both her sake and theirs. But they believed that she was abandoning them, and scorned her and her memory. There was only one beast left, a young, insignificant son of the Mother. He saw the sadness that the false Father and apostasy of her children had brought upon the All-Mother, and he vowed to go out into the world so that all would learn again of the truth. Only then could the Mother and her children be brought back into their perfect relationship."

Following a pregnant pause, Zevka asked, "So how does the story end? Does the son succeed or fail?"

"I don't know. It hasn't happened yet."

Suddenly the otter felt a strange warmth and pressure on his body, and realized that the marten had wrapped her arms around him. As he was processing this unexpected development she released her hold, and looked embarrassed. Istvan found himself entirely lost for words, and decided to ignore the incident in favor of a conversation that was marginally less awkward.

"Do you now understand why I was so upset about your decision during the owl attack?"

"...No, not really."

"Think about it. The Mother has given you a sharp mind."

Zevka tapped a claw against her chin, and then closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh. I see. But _you_ have to understand that I will not allow another of our group to die when I could have prevented it. If it means that I have to sacrifice a beast whose kin have killed countless of our friends and companions, then so be it."

"If there is ever a situation where that becomes necessary, I implore you to choose me instead. It would be a death most pleasing in the eyes of the Mother, and a life bought off the sacrifice of a child is not one worth living. But that is a choice that I pray we will never encounter again, so it would probably be best to discuss something a bit more pertinent. If you please, could you show me again this letter that Gashrock thought worth dying for."

Zevka withdrew the bloodstained, crumbled piece of parchment from her pocket and passed it to him. Istvan read it once more, and pointed to the seal at the bottom.

"See this uneven part of the wax here? Captain Fern once threw the stamp at a magistrate who said that the Guard wasn't doing enough with its budget and dented the bottom. They never got it repaired. This seal is definitely not a forgery. I wish I could be surprised, I really do."

"Are you telling me you knew this was a setup? I swear, Istvan, if you could have told somebeast-"

He waved a paw quickly to forestall her tirade. "No, no. Nothing like that. But in my seven seasons as a Guard, I have learned that just about every powerful beast in Yew is a craven, greedy, selfish, blasphemous, morally repugnant offense to the goodness of the Mother's creation. I don't doubt the authenticity of this seal, though the motivation behind sending the lot of us to our deaths escapes me."

Zevka smirked just a bit. "So, you mean I haven't just been spending time with the wrong crowd?" The marteness sighed, the smirk vanishing. "Unfortunately, that makes a lot of sense."

"As I said, the pawriting looks familiar, but that doesn't narrow it down at all. Have faith. Noonahootin has far more experience in the higher circles of society and might have an idea of who could profit from this despicable action, once he finally accepts its reality."

"It's not going to be easy to convince him, is it?"

Istvan thought of all the devotion which the owl showed each beast under his command, the personal relationship that he tried to build with each of them to gain an intimate understanding of their strengths and weaknesses. The death of his comrades in the landslide must have hit Noonahootin harder than he let show, and to think that the disaster had been orchestrated by his superiors... "No, not at all."

"Do you think we should wake him up? The longer we wait here, the more likely it becomes that the moles or the harfang will return."

"I don't know. Nyika is now the healer among us, you should be asking her. Right now, I would like to get a better look at one of these macabre structures that seem to have sprung up around the area."

Zevka followed him over to the bone tower, saying, "Did you notice that the moles stopped chasing us as soon as we crossed the line of these things? I think they know something we don't."

The otter ran his paws over its surface, which weathering had rendered smooth and brittle. The bones were expertly cut, fit together in a way that gave the tower a surprising amount of stability. Despite this, some of them were cracking and a few gaping black holes marred the bleached whiteness, indicating that the tower had been here for quite a while. "It's like some perverse ritual to the Mother, glorifying her creation by fashioning it into... this. The beasts who made this must have been quite mad."

"Mad though they were, their creations seem to have saved us from death for a little while."

"Istvan? Zevka?" came a voice from the inside of the structure. The otter jumped back and uttered a prayer for protection. The marten just looked confused.

"Poko? What are you doing in there?"

The ferret's face appeared in a gap where some bones had fallen out. "There was a hole in the bottom, and I wanted to see what was inside."

"Did you find anything?" asked Zevka.

"No, just spiders n' bones. It's hot in here, too."

"For the love of the Mother, get out of there," said Istvan. "Not only are you disrespecting those whose mortal bodies make up this structure, but what if something happened and we couldn't find you?"

"All right, all right. It's not like anythin's happenin' anyway while Captain Hooter is sleepin', but I was comin' out anyway."

Presently the ferretmaid wriggled her way through an opening in the bottom of the tower. She was now wearing Gashrock's coat, and if such a thing were possible Poko's actions would have dirtied it even further. As she walked over to join the other two, Istvan noticed that she was still favoring her good leg.

"Is your toe still paining you? Have you asked Nyika to look at it?"

"'M fine. Nyika didn't help when Risk got hurt, I don't see why she's got it into her head that she's some kinda healer now."

"She has medical supplies to use now. Don't let it get infected like Noonahootin did. We don't need two beasts collapsing on us out here," said Zevka.

"I would like to converse with her anyway regarding these towers. Her abilities may be able to provide insights beyond our scope of understanding."

Poko grumbled a bit about "stupid crazy faking cat," but limped along with the other two when they walked back over to Noonahootin's resting place. Then the ferret crept up to the owl and began jabbing him with her claw.

"Don't do that again or I'll let him eat you when he wakes up," warned the seer. Then she turned to the otter and marten. "Why did you bring her over here?"

"Her toe is still hurting her," said Zevka.

"Would you show me?" Nyika asked.

Poko stuck out both her tongue and her foot, and the cat unwrapped the now-brown cloth that concealed her wound. To her credit, she did not wince once the mess inside was revealed. "Have you been caring for this? It doesn't look as though it's been cleaned. If this gets infected you might need a new paw."

"I haven't had any time to keep it clean! We've been runnin' or walkin' somewhere for two days straight. And every time we stop, somebeast is assigning me somethin' to do like gather deadwood or boil nettles or melt snow for water...or else they're trying to stab me," she looked pointedly at Istvan, "Or insult my parents..." Nyika shut her eyes and winced, then blew out a breath of exasperation.

"We get it," sighed Zevka. "Just try to take care of it in the future."

"The All-Mother knows we have enough problems without adding amputation to the mix. You do not have any sins drastic enough to require that much blood," agreed Istvan. "While we are here, Divine Voice of Spirits, I was wondering if your gifts could tell us anything about these strange pillars."

Nyika glared at him. "How many times do I have to tell you, stop calling me things like that! I am not some holy beast for you to bow and scrape to."

"I apologize... Nyika."

"Thank you," she replied. "The bones are mostly stoat, with a few others mixed in. They don't really have any haunts, which tells me that they must be pretty old for all of them to have vanished. But there is a feeling of... fear, I guess? But it's something more. Whoever built these did it to warn about something, and it must have been pretty bad to scare off the moles. And I don't think the moles built them, otherwise they would have kept repairing them."

"So, there is something in the interior of this area that is so terrible that even that barbarous group of savages fear it? Then it seems that our only choice is to head towards it." All four beasts jumped at the sound of Greenfleck's voice, which emitted from a lump beside Noonahootin that Istvan had originally taken for a rock.

"Are ye crazy? We're tyin' tae make et te Carrigul in one piece. We've lost two beasts tae the moles already, and yae want tae go intae something that's even worse?," cut in Vanessa, who thankfully did not appear to have found anything to drink among the supplies. Or if she had, she had at least not chosen to imbibe it.

Zevka folded her arms. "Do you know of any other way to get towards Carrigul? Or out of this place at all? Judging by the size of that tunnel system, every other part of this valley is mole territory. We don't stand a chance of sneaking by them."

"We might not find anything," added Nyika. "These bone towers are all very old. Whoever made them could be long gone, and it's only their memory which keeps the moles away."

"In which case we should probably get moving. Memory cannot hold them back forever," said the toad.

"But what about Noonahootin? We can't move him in his condition."

"I volunteer to stay behind with the Captain until he wakes. I will offer sacrifice to the Mother to ensure our protection."

"As ye keep remindin' me, Ah'm the Guardsbeast here, an' yer the Corporal. Yeh should go on ahead, an' Ah'll protect the Captain."

"You cannot be serious, Guar- Vanessa. As your superior, I will not allow you to throw your life away in such a way."

She threw up her paws. "An' what makes aet better if ye are the one to die? Are ye tryin' tae stahp me from provin' that Ah can be useful?"

"My intention is exactly the opposite," shot back the tattooed otter. "I am a priest of the All-Mother, and my death shall fulfill my ultimate vocation. You are Captain Fern's daughter, and you cannot carry on his legacy by dying alone miles away from Yew!"

Vanessa stared back at him, for once without a retort. Thankfully, Zevka's voice broke the silence. "Stop this idiocy, you two. We're not leaving anybeast behind. And Istvan, stop slicing yourself up for your invisible friend. We need you healthy."

"Why can't we just wake up Cap'n Nooner?" asked Poko.

Nyika opened her mouth to reply, but a weak hoot cut her off. "That... won't be necessary."

The owl's eyelids fluttered open, and he attempted to stand. The two otters rushed over to help him upright, but he waved them off. His legs did not agree, however, and Vanessa had to support Noonahootin when he tipped over.

"Ahem... As I was saying, you... don't need to worry about leaving anybeast behind. I am coming with you."

"Are you sure?" Nyika frowned. "I've seen dead beasts in better shape."

"If he says he's fine, he's fine," said Greenfleck, who had grabbed one of the bags of supplies and was already heading further into the cursed area.

Istvan sighed. "It appears we have no other choice. Vanessa, assist the Captain in his walking."

The otter jill's answer was muffled through the mass of feathers that currently enveloped her face, but it did not sound like dissent. Istvan grabbed Gashrock's sewing kit and the remaining pack, and set off after the toad across the desolate landscape. The others fell into line behind him, with Vanessa and her feathery burden bringing up the rear.

"Do you sense anything?" he asked Nyika, once they had walked for what felt like miles. The otter felt unseasonably warm, and he was even beginning to sweat.

"My abilities are not a map, Istvan," replied the wildcat, whose tail was doing an impressive impersonation of a bottlebrush. "All I can say is that bad feeling that I felt earlier is definitely getting stronger. There is something horribly... wrong about this place."

"Ain't that the truth," muttered Poko.

"Hey, everybeast? You might want to look up," called Zevka suddenly.

Seven pairs of eyes raised in the direction of the sky. What met their gaze was not the familiar rugged pattern of mountains in the distance, but something far more regularly shaped.

"By the Mother... it's a building."

Vanessa craned her neck up to gaze at the imposing structure. "Jings! Wot a sight. Doesnae look tae cheery does et?

"Do ya think they'll have warm food and beds?" asked Poko.

The wildcat shivered, not from the cold. "Their hobby seems to be erecting pillars out of others' bodies. I think it would be better if they were absent."

"Truly spoken, but we have no choice but to see just what kind of hospitality these structures will offer. I recommend that everybeast who has a weapon draw it now," said Greenfleck.

Istvan pulled his dagger from its sheath, and he heard a soft rasp as Zevka followed suit with her saber. Vanessa shrugged off Noonahootin and put up her fists, Greenfleck gripped his knife, and even Nyika held up Risk's dagger like a talisman.

The All-Mother had other plans for them, however. The otter heard an almighty roar and the ground heaved beneath his paws, throwing up a spray of scalding vapor. Before his vision filled with dirt, the otter saw Greenfleck's face contort into an expression of utter terror as the toad disappeared down a gaping hole that suddenly appeared underneath him.

And Istvan knew, as the Mother vented her fury around them, that the time of judgment had finally come.


	40. Interlude: A Wild Drilbur Appeared!

**40. Interlude: A Wild Drilbur Appeared!**

_By: Tara_

Pyracantha hesitated for a moment, Flax's dagger clutched tight in her paw. Had they been followed? And by whom? Or what? Her joy at discovering one of her Players still alive fizzled and died. Would they even have a chance to try and track them down, or would they be slaughtered by whatever it was outside?

"Flax!" she cried, suddenly finding her voice and her senses again. She could worry later.

She started for the exit, only to be plowed over by a snowy blur.

"Stop struggling, you! Ow! _Ow!_ The little fiend bit me!"

Pyracantha looked up in confusion to see the Captain of all the Yew Guard fending off a small, chubby molemaid in a blue dress and flowery pinafore. His young assailant scrabbled and kicked, her teeth gnashing as she growled in a deep voice that belied her size. Pyracantha couldn't help it; she exploded with laughter at the ridiculous sight.

"Oi! Stop laughing and get this beast off me!" Flax shouted, all traces of dignity gone as he grappled with the snarling molechild.

Wiping tears of merriment from her eyes, Pyracantha finally found her breath again and obliged, grabbing the molemaid by the waist and yanking her bodily off the vole. She plonked the squirming beast down and spread her paws wide.

"Hold up, child. We won't hurt you—"

"Though we _should_," Flax grumbled, nursing his bitten arm.

Pyracantha shushed him. "What's your name, dear?"

The molemaid's eyes never truly focused on the fox; her left seemed to wander permanently off on its own. She considered the vixen's question, pausing to wipe a healthy stream of snot onto her sleeve. "Ruta."

"Ruta. Okay, then. What are you doing out here all by yourself? Were you with the group? Was she with the group?" She turned to Flax.

"No," the vole said. "She must be one of the mole tribe living in the mountains. They can be a reclusive lot, but never this...aggressive."

Ruta stuck out her tongue and waggled her snout at Flax as the vole glared daggers back at her. "Voler got brains after all."

"Listen, you..." Flax began.

"Oh, Flax, leave her alone," Pyracantha snapped. "She's just a child. Now, Ruta, why are you here? Where is your family?"

At this, Ruta seemed to deflate a bit, and she shrugged. "Just felt like explorin'."

Pyracantha didn't buy that for a second, but the mole looked upset, so she didn't press the issue. "Don't you think you should go home?"

"No." Ruta kicked at some old charred wood.

"Well, you're not coming with us," Flax huffed. "You wouldn't last a day in Carrigul."

"Oi know these mountains better than 'ee, voler. You'm need me to show 'ee the way out."

"Ruta," Pyracantha said gently, "I actually have to agree with Flax here. It's dangerous what we're doing. Besides, I'm sure your family is worried. Tomorrow morning we can take you back to them."

Ruta paused to wipe a bit more snot from her snout. "You'm don't even know how much danger there be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Flax demanded. "Hey, is that..."

Ruta squealed as the vole lunged and tore something peeping out from one of her pinafore pockets. He held it up for Pyracantha to see.

"A sling! So, it was _your lot_ shooting at us earlier! Well, I was always suspicious of you moles, but I never thought I'd see the day where woodlanders fired on woodlanders." Flax jerked his head toward the cave entrance. "Well, go on, then. Get out. I want nothing to do with you."

"Flax!"

"Can it, Miss Dewhurst. I don't want this savage anywhere near me."

Thick, pearly tears poured from the young molemaid's unfocused eyes. She sniffled, snot oozing from her nose in earnest now. Pyracantha's heart melted at the pitiful sight; the vixen gathered Ruta into her arms and held her close.

"There, there, dear. It's all right."

"Miss Dewhurst, are you forgetting we were almost _killed_ by her kin earlier today?"

Ruta pushed away from Pyracantha with surprising strength, jabbing at her chest with a heavy claw. "_Oi_ didn't want them to hurt 'ee! You'm weren't hurtin' anybeast. Oi followed 'ee. Oi don't want to go back. They'm are trying to kill 'ee. They'm won't rest until you'm be dead. Oi told me brother, Baga, but he said, 'Ruta, what can we do? We'm only little molers.' So Oi said we should run away and help 'ee, but he'm too scared. So Oi ran away by myself."

"Why are the moles trying to kill us?" Pyracantha asked.

"Oi don't know."

Flax snorted. "Right."

A fresh wave of tears overcame Ruta. "Oi swears, zurr! Oi don't know."

"I believe you, dear," Pyracantha said, patting her back.

"Oh, come on!" Flax spat. "She's obviously a spy."

Pyracantha shot him a scathing look. "Would you send your daughter—what was her name, Netta—into an enemy camp?"

The vole opened and shut his mouth a few times, but no sound issued forth.

_"Well?"_

Pyracantha folded her arms across her chest impatiently. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ruta mimicking her actions exactly.

"No, okay? No, I wouldn't," Flax finally said defeatedly. "I still don't think she should travel with us, though."

"Well, whatever the case, can we just figure it out in the morning? It's getting late. I can take the first watch."

"No, I'll do it," Flax grumbled. "I'm wide awake yet. You go to sleep now, mole. No funny business."

Ruta gave him the most saintly of smiles and mimed a halo over her head with her claws. As soon as he'd turned his back she stuck out her tongue at him. Pyracantha smiled, then spread out a blanket she'd found amongst the wreckage.

"Here, Ruta, there should be room for us both."

The pair of them curled up in the blanket, Pyracantha wrapping her arms protectively around the young mole. She had no idea what could have been so bad that it had made the mole leave her family and come to them, and a small part of her still wondered if Ruta was being totally honest with them, but she was just a child. She'd have to keep a close eye on her.


End file.
